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https://archive.org/details/moderncivicartor00robi_0 


BY  CHARLES  MULFORD  ROBINSON 


Modern  Civic  Art. 

The  City  Made  Beautiful 
Octavo.  Third  Revised  Edition. 
With  30  Full-page  Illustrations. 
(By  Mail,  $3.25)  Net,  $3.00 

The  Improvement  of  Towns  and 
Cities;  or,  The  Practical  Basis 
of  Civic  ^Esthetics.  Cr.  8vo. 
Sixth  Printing. 

(By  Mail,  $1.35)  Net,  $1.25 


Decoration  over  an  Entrance  to  the  Doges’  Palace 


in  Venice 


i 


The  doge  kneels  before  the  lion  of  St.  Mark  in  token  that 
he  is  servant,  not  master,  of  the  State. 


I 


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abmaV  ni 

j£f|j  /ssioj  ni  shcM  J8  io  rioii  srfi  siotetf  gbsni  sgob  tdT 
sifs;l8  adl Jo  ,*i9i8£rn  jon  gi  arf 


Modern  Civic  Art 


OR 

THE  CITY  MADE  BEAUTIFUL 


CHARLES  MULFORD  ROBINSON 

AUTHOR  OF 

‘‘the  improvement  of  towns  and  cities ” 


Third  Edition 
With  Illustrations 


G,  P.  PUTNAM’S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 
Ubc  Itnicfeerbocher  press 


Copyright^  1903 


BY 

CHARLES  MULFORD  ROBINSON 


U'foe  ftmcfeerfeoclfeer  TfUw  U«rt 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 

HAT  there  has  been  a call  for  a new  edition  of 


this  volume  may  be  understood  as  meaning 


much  more  than  the  success  of  a book.  It 
stands  for  the  progress  of  the  Cause  for  the  further- 
ance of  which  the  book  came  into  existence. 

Nothing,  indeed,  has  been  more  remarkable  than 
the  growth  of  the  “civic  improvement”  movement 
during  the  last  few  years.  There  must  be  a strong 
feeling  on  the  part  of  an  individual  before  he  sets 
about  the  organisation  of  a society  to  further  his  pur- 
pose ; and  not  until  his  earnestness  has  spread  to  a 
good  many  others  can  he  succeed  in  establishing 
such  an  association,  if  it  is  to  call  upon  its  members 
for  money,  work,  and  self-sacrifice.  And  yet  up- 
wards of  twelve  hundred  local  “improvement”  so- 
cieties in  the  United  States  alone  are  now  recorded. 
They  range  from  the  club  in  that  village  which  has 
wisely  substituted  a wish  to  be  attractive  and  beauti- 
ful for  the  old  vain  dream  of  bigness,  to  a society  in 
one  of  the  second-class  cities  that  has  3000  mem- 
bers. The  clubs  have  begun  to  come  into  touch 
with  one  another  through  national  organisations ; 
and  they  are,  in  a wish  to  learn,  reaching  beyond 


iv  preface  to  the  Seconb  iCbitton. 

their  own  neighbourhood  and  even  beyond  their  own 
country.  Cities  of  like  size  and  class,  wherever  they 
are,  have  similar  problems.  New  York  learns  some- 
thing from  Paris,  and  Paris  from  New  York.  The 
illustrations  in  this  volume,  of  which  not  one  is  with- 
out general  pertinence,  happen  to  be  drawn  from 
five  different  nations,  and  in  the  United  States  they 
range  from  the  Eastern  coast  to  the  new  North-west. 
It  is  because  suggestion  can  be  thus  widely  and  help- 
fully drawn,  that  a literature  of  the  subject  is  pos- 
sible, and  is  called  for,  and  can  be  international. 

The  best  phase  of  the  movement  is  not,  however, 
its  extent,  nor  even  its  vigour  and  growing  efficiency, 
but  the  dependence  it  puts  on  the  ideal.  By  select- 
ing here  and  selecting  there,  the  dreamed  “City 
Beautiful  ” becomes  a reality,  is  made  a tangible  goal. 
Nobody  now  laughs  it  to  scorn.  Boards  of  Trade 
work  for  it ; Chambers  of  Commerce  appoint  com- 
missions to  consider  the  local  development ; to  do 
one’s  part,  in  association  or  individually  by  gifts,  to 
bring  nearer  its  consummation,  has  become  the  test 
of  public  spirit  and  philanthropy  ; corporations  ac- 
knowledge its  claim  to  consideration,  and  politicians 
have  respect  for  the  popular  faith  in  it.  It  is  the  one 
definite  civic  ideal  now  before  the  world. 

When,  only  three  years  ago,  the  author  published 
The  Improvement  of  Towns  and  Cities,  no  one  had 
dreamed  of  making  a book  out  of  the  records  of  scat- 
tered and  still  largely  sporadic  efforts  for  improving 
the  aspect  of  cities  and  towns,  and  the  requirement 


preface  to  tbe  Seconb  Ebition. 


V 


was  for  a small  volume  that  should  be  a practical 
handbook  for  general  use  by  those  who  were 
working  for  town  and  village  improvement.  This 
manual  came  into  larger  use  than  had  been  antici- 
pated, and  the  phrase  Modern  Civic  Art,  which 
would  not  at  the  outset  have  been  understood,  was 
chosen  as  the  natural  title  for  a more  comprehensive 
work  devoted  chiefly  to  the  artistic  side  of  the  sub- 
ject. The  army  of  workers  for  bettering  material 
conditions  in  community  life  had  become  conscious  of 
its  own  worth  and  was  beginning  to  realise  its  power 
for  influence.  A new,  or  at  least  a revived,  ideal  had 
found  itself.  Not  merely  the  philanthropic,  “the 
good  and  poor,”  but  the  rich  and  cultured  were  giv- 
ing thought  to  the  matter.  The  current  periodicals, 
quick  to  note  the  trend  of  popular  thought,  became 
full  of  the  subject ; and  their  proof  of  the  facility  with 
which  it  can  be  illustrated  has  created  the  demand 
that  the  new  edition  of  Modern  Civic  Art  should 
contain  appropriate  designs. 

Regarding  the  book  itself,  the  author  will  avail 
himself  of  this  opportunity  to  say  only  a word.  The 
first  two  chapters  have  been  occasionally  misunder- 
stood. It  has  been  sometimes  forgotten  that  they 
form  only  the  “ Introduction,”  and  that  so  little  can 
the  book  and  its  exposition  be  judged  from  them  that, 
as  far  as  it  is  concerned,  the  reader  could  omit  them. 
Of  course,  the  author  sincerely  hopes  that  he  will  not. 
They  have  their  purpose  and  were  written  to  be  read; 
but  because,  necessarily,  they  speak  of  the  subject  as 


vi  preface  to  tbe  Second  jEMtion. 

a whole  somewhat  abstractly,  it  is  not  to  be  con- 
cluded that  the  volume  lacks  in  concreteness  and 
definiteness.  For  the  rest,  he  would  express  the 
warmest  gratitude  for  the  extreme  cordiality,  kind- 
ness, and  appreciation  extended  to  him  by  both 
reviewers  and  public. 

C.  M.  R. 

September,  1904. 


CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTION 

CHAPTER 

I.  — A New  Day  for  Cities  .... 

II. — What  Civic  Art  Is  .... 

THE  CITY’S  FOCAL  POINTS 

III.  — The  Water  Approach  .... 

IV. — The  Land  Approach  .... 

V.  — The  Administrative  Centre  . 

IN  THE  BUSINESS  DISTRICT 

VI.  — The  Street  Plan  of  the  Business  District 

VII.  — Architecture  in  the  Business  District  . 

VIII. — The  Furnishings  of  the  Street 

IX.  — Adorning  with  Fountains  and  Sculpture 

IN  THE  RESIDENTIAL  SECTIONS 

X.  — Street  Plotting  among  the  Homes 

XI.  — On  Great  Avenues  .... 

XII.  — On  Minor  Residential  Streets 

XIII.  — Among  the  Tenements  .... 


PAG® 

3 

. 2 4 


ps 

. 39 
• 59 

. 8i 


. ioi 
. 123 

. 138 

. 166 


. 187 

. 206 

. 228 

. 245 


Vll 


viii  Contents 

THE  CITY  AT  LARGE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIV. — Comprehensive  Planning 271 

XV.  — Open  Spaces  .......  287 

XVI.  —Parkways 307 

XVII. — Distribution  and  Location  of  Parks  . . .321 

XVIII. — Park  Development 337 

XIX. — Temporary  and  Occasional  Decoration  . . 355 

Index 377 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Decoration  over  an  Entrance  to  the  Doges’  Paiace 
in  Venice Frontispiece 

The  doge  kneels  before  the  lion  of  St.  Mark  in  token  that  he 
is  servant,  not  master,  of  the  State. 

St.  Paul’s,  London,  from  the  Thames  . . .14 

The  Arc  de  Triomphe,  Paris  .....  24 

Embankment  and  Bridge,  Place  de  la  Duchesse  Anne, 

Nantes,  France 38 

The  Thames  Embankment,  London,  at  Somerset 

House  . ......  50 

St.  Pancras  Station,  London 66 

A familiar  type  of  European  station  in  which  a hotel,  screen- 
ing the  train-shed,  disguises  the  true  significance  of  the  building. 

Only  the  clock  tower  suggests  possible  connection  with  a 
railroad. 

A Civic  Centre  in  Berlin 68 

By  courtesy  of  the  Art  Commission  of  the  City  of  New  York. 

The  buildings  from  left  to  right  are:  The  Altes  Museum, 
the  new  Cathedral  with  the  Lustgarten  before  it,  the  royal 
palace,  and  the  Kaiser  Wilhelm  I.  Memorial.  The  monu- 
mental bridge  in  the  foreground  is  the  Schloss  Briicke,  over  the 
Spree.  Note  the  imposing  effect  of  grouping  the  structures. 

Railroad  Station  at  Waban,  Mass 74 

On  the  Boston  and  Albany  Railroad.  A suburban  station 
in  a parklike  setting. 

Railroad  Station  at  Wellesley  Farms,  Mass.  . . 88 

On  the  Boston  and  Albany  Railroad. 


IX 


X 


iHlustratfons 


PAGE 


Sir  Christopher  Wren’s  Plan  for  Rebuilding  London 


after  the  Great  Fire  in  1 66 6 no 

A Bit  of  New  York,  at  Bowling  Green  . . . 124 

Height  as  the  most  striking  characteristic  of  modern  com- 
mercial building. 

Isle  of  Safety  and  Artistic  Electrolier  . . . .148 

Fifth  Avenue  and  Twenty-third  Street,  New  York.  This 
construction  was  a result  of  the  Municipal  Art  Society’s 
competition. 

The  Fontaine  Moliere,  Paris 170 


This  has  been  placed  in  the  acute  angle  formed  at  the  build- 
ing line  by  converging  streets,  a point  of  great  civic  significance 
but  one  that,  because  of  its  slight  commercial  value,  is  often  an 


eyesore. 

The  Sieges  Allee,  Berlin 182 

Manning  Boulevard,  Albany,  N.  Y.  . . . . 198 

Suggesting  the  charm  of  the  curving  street. 

The  Champs  Elysees,  Paris  . . . . .218 

A Minor  Residential  Street 236 


The  planting  on  the  house  lawns  is,  as  commonly,  too 
“ spotty  ” ; but  the  street’s  dependence  on  private  property  for 
its  beauty  is  well  illustrated 

Seward  Park,  New  York 262 

This  open  space  in  a tenement  district  has  been  elaborately 
developed  as  a playground.  It  would  be  better  without  the 


fence. 

Gate  to  the  “ Yard  ” at  Harvard  ....  278 

Place  de  la  Republique,  Paris 288 

Trafalgar  Square,  London 296 

The  Square  and  the  Place  Darcy,  Dijon,  France  . 300 

Hudson  Park,  New  York  ......  306 


This  square  illustrates  an  unusual  and  interesting  develop- 
ment, but  one  lacking  relation  to  the  streets  it  should  adorn. 
The  fencing  of  the  greensward  here  also  is  to  be  regretted. 


Illustrations 


XI 


Chart  Showing  the  Public  Reservations  in  the  Metro- 
politan District  of  Boston 

Note  how  the  outlying  parks  are  connected  with  the  areas  of 
densest  population  by  means  of  parkways. 

The  Sumac  Drive  in  the  Park  and  Pleasure  Drive 
Association’s  Holdings,  Madison,  Wis. 

A suggestion  of  how  outlying  parks  that  have  been  developed 
in  the  natural  style  can  be  suitably  connected. 

View  in  Seneca  Park,  East,  Rochester,  N.  Y. 

Note  the  invitation  to  loiter  and  enjoy  the  view. 

Chart  Showing  the  Distribution  of  Public  Reservations 
in  and  about  Metropolitan  London 

This  may  be  compared  with  the  chart  showing  the  reserva- 
tions in  metropolitan  Boston,  where  a “system”  has  been 
developed. 

The  Glen  in  Minnehaha  Park,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 

In  Genesee  Valley  Park,  Rochester,  N.  Y. 

“ The  park  is  the  cathedral  of  the  modern  city.” 

Broad  Street,  Philadelphia,  Temporarily  Transformed 
into  a “Court  of  Honour”  for  a Pageant 


PAGE 

310 

314 

322 

334 

338 

344 

366 


INTRODUCTION. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A NEW  DAY  FOR  CITIES. 

''T''  HERE  is  a promise  of  the  dawn  of  a new  day. 

; The  darkness  rolls  away,  and  the  buildings 
i that  had  been  shadows  stand  forth  distinctly 
in  the  gray  air.  The  tall  facades  glow  as  the  sun 
rises;  their  windows  shine  as  topaz;  their  pennants 
of  steam,  tugging  tlutteringly  from  high  chimneys, 
are  changed  to  silvery  plumes.  Whatever  was 
dingy,  coarse,  and  Ugly,  is  either  transformed  or 
hidden  in  shadow.  The  streets,  bathed  in  the 
fresh  morning  light,  fairly  sparkle,  their  pavements 
from  upper  windows  appearing  smooth  and  clean. 
There  seems  to  be  a new  city  for  the  work  of  the 
new  day.  There  is  more  than  even  the  transformation 
that  Nero  boasted  he  had  made  in  Rome,  for  night 
closed  here  on  a city  of  brick,  stone,  and  steel;  but 
the  morning  finds  it  better  than  gold.  Sleep  had 
come  to  weary  brains  and  hearts,  and  had  closed 
eyes  tired  of  dreariness  and  monotony;  the  day  finds 
faculties  alert  and  vigorous;  and  eyes  are  opening 


4 


fIDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


upon  beauty.  As  when  the  heavens  rolled  away 
and  St.  John  beheld  the  new  Jerusalem,  so  a vision 
of  a new  London,  a new  Washington,  Chicago,  or 
New  York  breaks  with  the  morning's  sunshine  upon 
the  degradation,  discomfort,  and  baseness  of  modern 
city  life.  There  are  born  a new  dream  and  a new 
hope.  And  of  such  is  the  impulse  to  civic  art. 

Cities  grow  in  splendour.  There  are  new  stand- 
ards of  beauty  and  dignity  for  towns.  The  science 
of  modern  city-making  is  being  formally  laid  down 
as  its  principles  are  discovered  and  its  rules  enun- 
ciated. For  the  true  ideal  that  spurs  to  useful  en- 
deavour must  be  that  which  is  based  on  study  and 
facts.  But  as  the  dawn  transforms  only  real  cities, 
so  can  this  “new  day  ''  come  only  when  the  town 
of  familiar  experience  has  purposed  to  become  what 
it  should  be  and  might  be.  In  one  place  this  may  be 
soon,  in  another  late  ; in  one  place  there  is  already 
long  progress  toward  it,  in  another  there  are  only 
the  yearnings  and  painful  beginnings.  Yet  every- 
where a desire  to  some  extent  is  present ; often  there 
are  earnest  efforts  to  attain  to  the  beautiful  in  city- 
making; and  there  is  proud  remembrance  of  such 
urban  glory  as  the  past  may  claim. 

Out  of  this  irregular  progress  a law  appears  of 
municipal  evolution.  Though  the  development  be 
slow  and  tedious,  it  is  sure;  and  if  the  course  be 
marked,  the  law  noted,  the  vision  at  the  end  described, 
doubtless  something  will  have  been  done  to  hasten 
an  advance  that  was  never  so  swift  as  now,  however 


H flew  3Da?  for  Cities.  5 

laborious  to  the  impatient  the  process  seems.  Con- 
sidered merely  as  a morning  picture,  the  new  day 
for  cities  has  its  earliest  promise  in  the  tower  and 
steeple  gleaming  in  the  sunlight.  Its  later  social 
pledge  is  in  the  light  that,  glancing  on  the  dew- 
bathed  flowers  and  grass  of  the  people’s  parks,  studs 
them  with  jewels  as  sparkling  and  as  precious  to  a 
city  as  were  the  gems  in  the  prophet’s  vision  of  the 
new  Jerusalem.  Again,  we  see  it  in  the  beams  that, 
falling  athwart  the  open  space,  change  it  to  a bright 
oasis  whither  pallid  multitudes  flock  from  dreary 
homes,  and  where  little  children  play,  the  sun  upon 
their  hair. 

Progress  toward  a better  day  for  cities  owes  more 
than  might  be  guessed  to  the  impetus  of  dream  and 
hope  and  high  resolve.  These  furnish  the  inspira- 
tion to  practical  achievements.  Merely  as  a measure 
of  the  advance,  however,  the  latter  alone  have  first 
to  be  considered.  Observe  how  much  the  modern 
city  is  indebted  not  merely  for  comfort  but  for  dig- 
nity and  beauty  to  recent  discovery  and  invention. 
The  dark  streets  through  which  the  pedestrian  form- 
erly made  at  night  an  uncertain  way,  with  his  indi- 
vidual lantern,  now  glow  at  midnight  as  at  noon. 
The  refuse  once  poured  from  upper  windows  to  the 
streets,  in  proudest  capitals,  flows  now  in  subter- 
ranean streams,  unknown.  The  pavement,  that  at 
best  in  other  days  was  a racking  way  of  cobble- 
stones, is  now  made  hard  and  smooth.  Streets, 
once  so  crowded  by  enclosing  city  walls  as  even  irt 


6 


flfrobern  Civic  Hrt. 


capitals  of  empires  to  be  narrow,  treeless  slits  be- 
tween the  buildings,  now  — alike  in  the  humblest 
and  most  thronged  communities — widen  broadly,  per- 
mitting the  traffic  to  move  with  ease,  and  still  leave 
room  for  grass  and  trees,  and  ever  and  again  for 
flowers.  Water  is  had  in  abundance  to  clean  the 
pavements  and  lay  the  dust.  The  mesh  of  wires 
that  inventions  brought  with  them  as  a temporary 
urban  evil  are  now  assembling  in  orderly  strands 
beneath  the  ground;  and  there  is  promise  that  the 
smoke,  which  has  hung  in  a dark  cloud  above  the 
modern  industrial  community,  is  shortly  to  be  dissi- 
pated by  the  ingenuity  at  work  upon  the  problem. 

All  these  are  powerful  factors.  They  lay  a strong 
and  suitable  foundation  upon  which  a superstructure 
of  civic  art  may  be  consistently  built  up.  If,  indeed, 
our  cities  be  spacious,  well  paved,  and  clean,  with 
the  touch  of  God’s  fingers  in  open  space,  park,  and 
street,  to  what  mingling  of  comfort  and  nobility  may 
there  not  be  aspiration  in  these  days  of  municipal 
resource  and  power?  From  such  a foundation  it 
must,  inevitably,  be  possible  to  build  statelier  cities 
than  ever  before.  So  arises  modern  civic  art. 

Of  all  the  prerequisites  to  this  progress  the  most 
potent  is  the  extension  of  cities  over  a greater  area. 
That  the  normal  city  can  increase  vastly  in  popula- 
tion, with  no  proportionate  increase  in  congestion, 
is  a condition  of  supreme  importance.  This  is  the 
aid  of  rapid-transit  to  the  cause  of  city  beauty.  We 
are  not  even  yet  realising  fully  what  it  is  to  mean, 


a Iflew  Da?  for  Cities. 


7 


for  it  has  brought  with  it  at  first  a financial  and  con- 
structive embarrassment  in  the  greater  burden  of 
public  property  to  be  cared  for,  extending  and  multi- 
plying sparsely  built-up  streets  that  have  to  be 
paved,  lighted,  provided  with  sewers  and  water,  and 
guarded  from  crime  and  fire.  And  this  embarrass- 
ment is  one  which  many  cities  have  gone  half-way 
to  meet  through  the  extravagant  extension  of  their 
boundaries,  so  that  it  has  early  had  an  undue  pro- 
portion of  the  emphasis.  But  the  net  advantage  of 
widening  the  area  available  for  city  expansion  re- 
mains very  great.  Therein  rests  the  solution  of 
many  problems  of  city  development  that  have  to  be 
solved  before  the  new  science  of  city-making  can 
advance  any  claim  to  thoroughness  in  results  ; and 
if  we  have  hastily  gone  half-way  to  meet  the  one 
great  disadvantage,  striving  first  of  all  to  overcome 
that,  we  already  know  the  worst  and  may  expect  in 
the  fast  coming  years  to  reap  a profit  which  will 
then  appear  to  be  almost  wholly  net.1 

And  what  is  this  profit  to  be  ? Of  its  immediate 
and  superficial  benefit,  in  such  broadening  of  thor- 

1 In  the  United  States  where,  through  multiplicity  of  examples,  the  first  results 
of  the  extension  of  city  boundaries  can  be  most  conveniently  observed,  a newspaper 
took  a census  at  the  opening  of  the  twentieth  century  of  “the  greatest  needs  ” of 
a score  of  the  larger  and  older  cities.  Overwhelmingly  they  were  : (i)  pave- 
ments ; (2)  extension  of  water-  and  sewer-pipes  ; (3)  additional  water  supply. 
Such  practical  wants  in  old  and  rich  communities  would  have  been  inexcusable,  and 
undoubtedly  of  nothing  like  this  predominance,  had  not  the  city’s  area  been  recently 
extended  greatly  in  every  case.  The  census  was  taken  in  a period  of  national 
prosperity,  and  as  this  was  prolonged  great  urban  expenditures  were  undertaken  to 
supply  the  wants.  A compilation  made  by  the  Municipal  Journal  two  years  later 
put  the  anticipated  expenditures  for  municipal  improvements  in  that  one  year  in  the 
United  States  at  upwards  of  a billion  dollars.  This  included  $24,000,000  by  New 


8 


ffoobern  Civic  Hrt. 


oughfares  that  there  is  room  upon  them  not  only  for 
the  traffic  but  for  the  soft  and  brightening  touch  of 
nature,  there  has  been  already  a suggestion.  The 
change  can  be  better  appreciated  in  the  old  world 
than  in  the  new,  for  there  the  razing  of  the  walls 
marks  distinctly  the  transition  from  the  ancient 
method  of  city-building  to  the  modern.  Within  a 
stone’s  throw  we  may  find  the  old,  narrow,  treeless 
chasms  that  did  for  streets,  and  the  broad  new 
boulevards  with  trees  and  turf.  But  without  the 
provision  of  some  means  of  urban  transit  that  should 
be  cheap,  swift,  and  frequent,  this  razing  of  the  con- 
fining walls  could  have  accomplished  little.  Hap- 
pily, however,  one  promptly  followed  the  other. 
The  town,  having  been  given  the  opportunity  to 
expand,  found  the  means  to  do  so.  Thenceforth,  in 
the  United  States,  and  wherever  the  self-confident 
commerce  of  late  years  has  built  new  cities,  the 
towns  have  begun  expansively. 

The  advantage,  however,  far  exceeds  an  outward 
and  purely  aesthetic  gain.  It  promises  to  check  that 
sad  phase  of  urban  development  in  which,  heretofore, 

York,  mainly  for  subways,  bridges,  paving,  and  water ; about  $20,000,000  by 
Philadelphia,  mainly  for  the  improvement  of  the  water  system  ; and,  as  an  example 
of  the  effort  by  smaller  cities,  the  laying  of  at  least  one  hundred  thousand  square 
yards  of  paving  in  St.  Paul.  These  estimates,  it  should  be  remembered,  were  simply 
on  work  to  be  actually  done  within  the  twelve  months.  The  commitments  for  the 
future  represented  a far  greater  sum.  In  New  York,  for  instance,  the  rapid-transit 
tunnel  alone  was  to  involve  a total  cost  of  $15,000,000.  To  this  more  than  half  a 
dozen  millions  were  to  be  added  by  the  tunnel  under  the  East  River.  Three  new 
bridges,  on  which  work  was  in  progress,  were  expected  to  add  $60,000,000— a total 
in  these  items  of  more  than  a hundred  millions.  Then  there  were  bridges  over  the 
Harlem,  development  of  the  Bronx  district,  new  street  openings,  paving,  etc.,  to  a 
very  great  amount.  Clearly,  the  new  obligations  were  courageously  attacked. 


a IRew  2>a?  for  Cities. 


9 


the  increase  of  population  has  meant  a closer  huddling 
of  the  poor.  For  this  there  could  have  been  no 
relief  while  city  walls  lasted;  it  must  have  gone 
from  bad  to  worse  and  have  made  in  the  misery  of 
the  poor  a horrible  mockery  of  the  efforts  for  city 
beauty;  and  these  walls,  we  need  to  remind  our- 
selves, did  not  have  to  be  of  stone.  Much  more 
relentless  than  embattlements  of  masonry  are  those 
gateless  walls  that  tirnq  and  space  throw  round  about 
a city.  Until  rapid-transit  lowered  these,  municipal 
art  held  out  no  promise  to  the  poor. 

The  tenement  we  have  with  us  yet,  and  it  seems 
too  much  to  hope  that  we  shall  ever  be  without  it;  but 
it  may  be  an  improved  tenement,  with  a playground 
for  the  children  very  near  it  and  a lovely  park  not  far 
away.  Thanks  to  rapid-transit,  modern  civic  art 
can  now  hope  to  banish  “ the  slum,”  thus  to  redeem 
the  tenement,  and  to  make  its  own  conquests 
thorough.  For  the  expansion  of  the  town  resultant 
from  good  transit  facilities  acts  in  two  ways  upon  the 
slum.  It  lessens  the  pressure  from  within  by  making 
possible  the  removal  of  some  of  the  surplus  pop- 
ulation; it  lessens  the  pressure  from  without  by 
permitting  the  increase  of  the  town’s  accommodation 
to  be  by  concentric  rings.  What  this  means  to 
the  community  can  hardly  be  appreciated  in  the  bare 
statement;  but  the  greatest  of  our  humanitarian  op- 
portunities lies  within  it. 

That,  now,  the  civic  renaissance  to  which  we  tend 
must  include  an  entirely  new  art  of  city-making  is 


IO 


flDobern  Civic  Art. 


clear  from  the  character  of  the  factors  which  have 
been  already  considered.  Not  one  of  them  was 
operative  in  the  most  superb  city  of  ancient  times. 
The  opportunities  that  are  offered  by  recent  inven- 
tion and  discovery,  the  levelling  of  restricting  city 
walls  with  the  consequent  lessening  of  pressure 
within  the  town,  an  outward  movement  from  the 
centre  for  the  express  purpose  of  improving  industrial 
surroundings  — so  robbing  the  great  rise  of  modern 
industry  of  its  menace  to  civic  aesthetics,  all  this  is  a 
recent  development.  It  is  a happy  adjustment  to  new 
conditions,  seeming  to  make  possible  the  creation  of 
a city  beautiful  on  lines  that  are  not  antagonistic  to 
any  development  which  may  be  essential  to  modem 
urban  greatness,  and  on  lines  also  that  should  be 
more  permanent  and  splendid  than  any  civic  creation 
of  the  past,  if  the  science  of  city-building  be  care- 
fully evolved  and  adhered  to. 

But  there  remains  one  factor  more.  To  describe 
an  art  movement  in  the  industrial  phraseology  of  the 
day,  it  is  as  if  we  had  a clear  track  for  our  locomotive 
and  an  engineer  eager  to  draw  the  throttle.  We 
need  only  the  steam.  If  this  be  conceived  of  as  the 
power  derived  from  wealth,  the  gauge  should  now 
be  marking  an  extremely  high  pressure.  We  are 
rich  enough  to-day,  not  in  the  United  States  alone, 
nor  in  Great  Britain  alone,  nor  in  France  or  Germany. 
For,  whatever  may  be  the  per-capita  wealth  of 
nations  or  cities,  this  is  the  day  of  great  individual 
fortunes,  which  is  to  say  of  vast  opportunities,  and 


a Iftew  2)a?  for  Cities, 


ii 

more  and  more  it  is  the  fashion  to  use  these  for 
the  public  good.  It  is  the  day  also  of  ready  com- 
munication, so  that  the  treasures  of  the  world,  the 
various  materials,  and  the  taste  and  ingenuity  of 
man  lie  at  the  hand  of  him  who  can  pay  for  them. 
The  city  that  would  make  itself  magnificent  has  the 
whole  world  to  draw  upon. 

And  in  this  connection,  note  these  thoughts: 
Bayet  in  his  Precis  d’Histoire  de  VArt  observes  of  the 
Renaissance  cities  of  Italy  that  “the  accumulation  of 
wealth  by  these  enlightened  communities  made  for 
artistic  progress.  ” 1 The  statement  is  interesting  as  a 
historical  justification  of  the  claim  that  in  an  age  of 
enlightenment  wealth  does  make  for  art.  Art,  de- 
pendent on  slow  painstaking,  must  have  its  patron 
who  can  pay.  Bayet  again  speaks  of  the  Italian 
cities  as  republics  “which  by  their  commerce  and 
industry  became  prosperous  and  rich,  and  in  which 
political  life  was  especially  ardent.”  This  is  of 
interest  as  showing  that  the  eager  feverishness  of 
municipal  politics  does  not  necessarily  hamper  the 
development  of  civic  art.  Nor  is  it  perfectly  clear 
that  such  art  has  to  develop  in  spite  of,  rather  than 

1 Ernest  Gilliat  Smith  in  his  Story  of  Bruges  notes  an  exactly  similar  phenomenon 
in  the  Flemish  Renaissance.  During  the  prosperous  fifteenth  century,  when  the 
Renaissance  was  at  its  zenith,  he  remarks  that  aside  from  the  splendid  work  done  by 
the  great  city  companies  and  by  the  nobles,  the  movement  toward  civic  art  became 
truly  popular.  He  says:  “ The  new  men  who  had  recently  amassed  fortunes  vied 

with  the  old  aristocracy  in  the  magnificence  and  luxury  of  the  mansions  which  they 
now  built;  plain,  well-to-do  merchants  were  everywhere  constructing  those  roomy, 
comfortable  abodes,  which,  with  their  high-stepped  gables  and  their  facades  en- 
circled with  stately  panelling  and  Gothic  tracery,  still  render  the  streets  and  squares 
and  waterways  of  Bruges  the  most  picturesque  in  Europe.” 


12 


flDobcrn  Civic  Hrt. 


because  of,  such  interests.  For  where  political  life  is 
ardent,  the  civic  consciousness  is  strong;  the  impulse 
toward  creative  representation  is  fervent;  and  state, 
government,  the  ideals  of  parties,  are  no  longer 
abstractions,  but  are  concrete  things  to  be  loved  or 
hated,  worked  for,  and  done  visible  homage  to.  The 
strain  and  stress  of  city  politics  to-day  are  not,  then, 
a factor  essentially  antagonistic  to  civic  art. 

The  final  thought  is  this  : Engineering,  upon 
which  the  aesthetic  aspect  of  cities  is  so  largely  de- 
pendent, differs  from  pure  art  in  that  it  need  not 
be  the  child  of  inspiration.  It  is  an  exact  science 
and,  as  such,  wealth  can  buy  it,  can  even  import  it, 
bringing  to  the  city  the  engineer  who  can  make  the 
municipality  splendidly  correct,  if  among  its  own 
citizens  there  be  no  lover  who  has  that  power.  Here 
again  in  the  modern  effort  for  the  physical  improve- 
ment of  cities  there  is  singular  good-fortune.  The 
science  of  city-building  does  not  wholly  depend  upon 
high  impulse  or  inspiration.  For  its  plainer  and  yet 
essential  victories  the  intellect  is  sufficient.  And 
yet,  over  and  above  this  requirement  which  we  can 
hope  to  meet  so  easily,  there  are  the  high  motives 
that  must  surely  give  birth  to  inspiration. 

Thus  the  modern,  dawning,  civic  art  appears  as 
the  latest  step  in  the  course  of  civic  evolution.  The 
flowering  of  great  cities  into  beauty  is  the  sure  and 
ultimate  phase  of  a progressive  development.  It  has 
represented  the  crown  of  each  successive  civilisa- 
tion. If  decadence  has  followed  it,  if  the  storied 


a iRew  2>ap  for  Cities. 


13 


beauty  of  Babylon,  if  the  splendour  of  Carthage  as 
Turner  painted  it,  if  the  chaste  loveliness  of  Athens 
and  the  magnificence  of  Rome  marked  in  each  case 
the  culmination  of  an  empire,  it  has  been  through  no 
effeminacy  and  weakness  inherent  in  the  develop- 
ment itself.  Rather  has  it  been  because  the  glory 
showered  upon  these  cities  was  a concentrated  ex- 
pression of  the  highest  civilisation  and  the  highest 
culture  of  which  the  empire  was  capable. 

All  that  is  best  the  city  draws  to  itself.  As  mag- 
nets acting  on  filings  of  steel,  the  cities  attract  from 
their  dependent  fields  whatever  there  be  of  learning, 
culture,  and  art.  The  adornment  that  was  lavished 
upon  Venice,  Florence,  and  the  minor  city-republics 
of  Italy,  and  again  upon  the  Flemish  cities,  repre- 
sented, not  weakness,  but  the  virility  and  rich  abund- 
ance of  those  qualities  of  mind  and  heart  which 
expressed  themselves  in  the  Southern  and  Northern 
Renaissance.,  Had  the  cities  been  less  beautiful,  the 
Renaissance  had  been  less  notable.  They  mutually 
interpret  each  other ; and  cities  begin  to  bud  and 
flower  in  beauty  only  when  learning,  culture,  and  art 
are  flowering  around  them. 

The  development  will  differ  in  aspect,  of  course, 
as  the  civilisations  differ  in  character.  The  art  of 
Greece  was  sculpture,  and  the  glory  of  Athens  in  her 
golden  age  was  the  chiselled  art  of  the  Acropolis. 
Rome  was  imperial,  and  her  glory  found  expression 
in  construction  that  was  colossal  and  magnificent. 
The  art,  again,  of  the  Southern  Renaissance  was 


14 


flfrobern  Civic  art. 


painting,  and  we  find  in  frescoes  and  in  the  more 
delicate,  more  pictorial,  phases  of  architecture  the 
triumph  of  the  Italian  republics.  To-day,  the  spirit 
of  the  time  is  commercial  and  industrial,  and  our 
modern  civic  art  reveals  itself  in  forms  that  com- 
merce and  industry  comprehend.  That  our  civic  art 
must  differ  from  that  of  other  times  does  not  mean, 
therefore,  that  it  is  not  art,  or  that  the  new  day  for 
cities  will  be  less  brilliant  than  of  old.  Rather,  if  it 
be  truly  the  heir  of  the  past,  it  must  be  the  new  glory 
of  a new  time. 

Commerce  and  industry  now  express  themselves, 
in  the  realm  of  city  aesthetics,  in  great  highways,  in 
commercial  palaces,  in  bridges,  and  wharves,  and 
stations.  The  love  of  nature,  the  lately  aroused 
consciousness  of  what  may  be  called  sentiment  for 
landscape,  brings  vegetation  into  the  busy  city  to 
soften  and  brighten  ; and  then  the  spirit  of  practical 
philanthropy  — so  evident  to-day  — locates  play- 
grounds, builds  schools,  and  insists  that  modern 
civic  art  shall  pervade  all  quarters  of  the  town,  re- 
modelling alleys  as  well  as  avenues. 

Now,  if  civic  art  be  a phase  of  urban  evolution, 
it  should  be  possible  to  trace  the  steps  by  which 
it  is  approached.  Let  us  consider  what  these  have 
been  in  the  rise  of  modern  cities:  There  came  first  the 
aggregation.  Where  no  city  had  been  the  people 
flocked  — the  reason  need  not  now  concern  us  — 
until  there  was  a city.  The  aggregation  continuing 
led  quickly  to  congestion,  at  least  in  parts  of  the 


St.  Paul’s,  London,  from  the  Thames. 


a IRew  2>a?  for  Cities. 


i5 


community,  and  close  upon  congestion  came  squa- 
lor. We  had  now  a large  city,  a crowded  city, 
and  a miserable  one.  Out  of  misery  came  corrup- 
tion, debauch  of  the  popular  conscience,  and  — from 
such  favourable  conditions — political  knavery.  These, 
swiftly,  are  the  steps  of  the  downward  course.  But 
all  the  time  there  were  forces  at  work  for  good. 
The  very  evil  into  which  affairs  had  passed  created  a 
disgust  that  vastly  aided  the  reform  endeavours. 
So  reform  efforts  gained  gradually  in  importance. 

Ideals  were  put  before  the  people,  and  to  some 
extent  assimilated.  There  had  already  been  evid- 
ences of  aesthetic  aspiration,  first  noted  in  those 
quarters  in  which  was  congregating  wealth  — that 
wealth  which  had  begun  to  accumulate  in  accord- 
ance with  the  laws  the  foreseeing  of  whose  opera- 
tion had  induced  the  growth  of  the  town.  But  such 
is  the  force  of  good  example  that  aesthetic  aspira- 
tions spread  broadly.  Elementary  construction,  also, 
had  begun.  At  first  this  was  for  the  sake  of  the 
traffic  and  of  sanitation  ; but  by  degrees  it  had  a 
more  distinctly  aesthetic  purpose.  Of  these  forward 
steps,  some,  of  course,  were  taken  coincidently  with 
the  backward,  for  the  community  did  not  march 
first  one  way  and  then  the  other.  Two  forces  were 
pulling  in  opposite  directions;  and  if  political  knavery 
turned  constructive  efforts  in  the  public  works  to  its 
own  evil  purposes,  the  physical  condition  of  the 
town  in  its  turn  gained  something  from  the  official 
eagerness  to  rob  it  and  the  stupid  dormancy  of 


i6 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


the  popular  conscience  that  afforded  the  opportunity 
for  such  outrage  in  constructive  work.  Thus  the 
early  improvements  were  purchased  at  an  immensely 
extravagant  price;  but  — there  were  improvements 
and  they  were  hastened. 

With  varying  celerity  the  conscience  now  awak- 
ened. The  reform  efforts  enlisted  individuals,  and 
then  associations  of  individuals,  who  were  concerned 
in  bettering  not  alone  the  government,  but  the 
aspect,  of  the  town.  Where  officials  were  dis- 
trusted and  individuals  and  associations  tried  to  act 
by  themselves,  or  where  the  trust  in  officials  was 
misplaced,  there  followed  necessarily  much  waste, 
extravagance,  and  positive  injury  by  poor  taste. 
As  the  like  result  followed  either  of  these  choices, 
we  find  its  expression,  indeed,  almost  universal. 
Then  appears  another  phase  in  the  civic  develop- 
ment. This  is  perception  of  the  waste,  extravag- 
ance, and  lack  of  artistic  judgment,  and  willingness 
to  seek  their  correction  by  submission  to  expert 
guidance.  With  this  come  co-operation,  eagerness 
to  learn  the  experience  of  other  places  and  to  profit 
by  it,  and  dependence  on  those  authorities  whose 
knowledge,  genius,  or  talent  is  broadly  recognised. 
With  this  new  chapter,  wherever  it  is  now  entered 
upon,  begins  modern  civic  art  as  distinguished  from 
merely  the  improvement  of  cities. 

In  the  broad  field  of  cities,  examples  can  readily 
be  found  to  illustrate  the  successive  steps  in  this 
general  evolution.  The  phases  will  differ  slightly 


a IRew  Da?  for  Cities. 


1 7 


here  and  there,  as  national  and  local  peculiarities 
stamp  the  development;  but  the  course  is  clear, 
essentially  uniform,  and  leading  surely  to  civic 
aesthetics  as  its  visible  crown.  So  civic  art  properly 
stands  for  more  than  beauty  in  the  city.  It  repre- 
sents a moral,  intellectual,  and  administrative  pro- 
gress as  surely  as  it  does  the  purely  physical.  It 
stands  for  conscientious  officials  of  public  spirit, 
and  where  the  officials  are  elective  it  is  evidence 
of  an  aroused  and  intelligent  populace. 

Perhaps  the  steps  of  this  civic  evolution  will 
show  more  clearly  if  we  turn  from  abstractions  to 
the  concrete. 

The  census  bulletins  of  the  United  States  declare 
that  in  that  country  during  the  nineteenth  century 
there  came  into  existence  five  hundred  and  thirty- 
three  communities  of  eight  thousand  or  more  in- 
habitants each.  If  we  call  them  all  by  the  name 
that  doubtless  four-fifths  ot  them  claim,  we  shall 
group  them  as  cities;  and  can  say,  in  the  census 
phrase,  that  in  1800  the  urban  population  was  con- 
tained in  twelve  communities  and  represented  four 
per  cent,  of  the  total  population,  while  in  1900  it 
constituted  five  hundred  and  forty-five  communi- 
ties containing  more  than  thirty-three  per  cent, 
of  the  total  population.  This  is  a group  of  statistics 
that  illustrates  conveniently  that  nineteenth-century 
phenomenon  which  is  known  as  the  “ urban  drift,” 
and  which  was  no  more  marked  in  the  United  States 
than  in  other  nations  — most  notably  in  Germany 


1 8 flDobern  Civic  Art. 

and  England.  This,  as  representing  the  “aggrega- 
tion,” constitutes  what  we  have  called  the  first  step 
in  the  civic  evolution. 

To  find  some  of  these  communities  that  are  yet 
in  the  earlier  stages  of  the  subsequent  development, 
we  may  turn  with  best  assurance  to  the  Western 
States.  In  the  newer  towns  congestion  will  not, 
happily,  be  revealed;  but  that  is  a spectacle  too 
familiar  in  cities  of  all  nations  and  all  times  to  need 
illustration,  and  wretchedness  has  not  waited  for 
congestion.  We  find  the  town  growing  on  lines 
determined  partly  by  accident  and  partly  by  the 
push  of  enterprising  real-estate  holders,  not  at  all 
according  to  artistic  design.  There  is  little  that  can 
be  reasonably  called  architecture.  If  a man  wants 
a store,  a barn,  or  a house,  he  goes  to  the  carpenter, 
and  the  carpenter  puts  up  the  long,  single-gabled, 
frame  structure  that  is  the  simplest  and  cheapest. 
Possibly,  if  the  owner  be  a merchant  and  ambitious 
to  have  his  emporium  impressive,  a square  front, 
built  to  the  height  of  the  roof  peak,  may  be  put 
before  the  skeleton  structure;  but  this,  misleading 
no  one,  hardly  serves  to  change  the  type.  If  there 
be  no  time  to  build  attractive  houses,  certainly 
there  is  none  in  which  to  lay  out  gardens.  People 
have  not  come  to  live  in  the  place  because  it  is 
pretty,  but  because  they  want  to  make  money;  and 
they  have  not  learned  yet  to  love  the  town.  It  will 
not  even  represent  “home”  to  them  for  several 
years.  Clearly,  civic  aesthetics  are  at  the  antithesis 


a Iftew  3>av>  for  Cities. 


J9 


of  this  phase;  we  are  yet  at  the  beginning  of  urban 
development.  In  fact,  such  public  spirit  as  there 
may  be  is  so  crude  and  sordid  that  it  counts  any- 
thing— even  a water-tank  — as  growth.  The  moral, 
intellectual,  and  political  conditions  in  this  dreary 
town  need  not  here  concern  us.  But  they  cannot 
be  high. 

We  may  pass  now  to  those  thriving  cities  of 
about  thirty  thousand  - inhabitants  which,  met  so 
frequently  in  the  more  closely  settled  portions  of  a 
country,  well  represent  another  stage  in  the  devel- 
opment. In  the  United  States  they  are  frankly  in- 
dustrial communities.  Political  affairs  are  in  that 
condition  when,  out  of  the  sore  need  of  reform  en- 
deavours, there  is  a more  or  less  continuous  series 
of  spasmodic  reform  efforts.  But  the  physical  im- 
provement of  the  town  has  gone  steadily,  though 
expensively,  forward.  The  town  is  well  lighted, 
most  of  the  important  streets  are  paved,  and  there 
are  rather  more  sewer-  and  water-pipes  than  perhaps 
are  needed  — or,  if  the  aggregate  be  not  excessive, 
their  location  is  not  of  the  best,  for  they  have  been 
extended  on  some  streets  that  may  not  be  built  up 
for  a decade  at  the  expense  of  others  that  are  popu- 
lated. The  industry  of  the  town  has  begun  to  roll 
up  the  expected  private  gain.  The  old  type  of 
building  has  given  way  again  and  again  to  some- 
thing ornate,  garish,  and  showy.  Iron  is  favoured 
because  it  can  be  made  to  suggest  stone,  while  being 
cheap.  There  are  stores  with  cast-iron  fronts;  there 


20 


fIDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


are  lawns  with  red  iron  deer;  there  is  a soldiers’ 
monument  of  iron.  It  is  the  iron  age'.  The  houses 
are  now  of  all  kinds.  From  the  extreme  of  monot- 
ony the  town  has  reacted,  seeking  the  extremes  of 
originality.  But  the  residential  streets  are  lined  with 
trees,  the  square  in  front  of  the  court-house  is  kept 
in  order,  and  most  of  the  houses  stand  in  little  gar- 
dens that  add  much  to  the  attractiveness  of  the  place. 
The  people  have  begun  to  love  their  city.  It  is  their 
home,  and  they  like  to  have  strangers  call  it  “attract- 
ive.” There  are  distinct  yearnings  toward  better 
things.  /Esthetic  ambition  has  been  born. 

The  next  step  in  the  evolution  develops  rapidly. 
A park  is  laid  out.  If  it  is  done  somewhat  apologet- 
ically, with  a pushing  forward  of  philanthropical  rea- 
sons, no  one  is  deceived  as  to  the  relative  importance 
of  these.  Gifts  are  made  to  the  town.  The  memo- 
rial fountain  is  really  stone,  for  the  iron  age  has 
passed;  and  the  new  public  library  is  so  unmistaka- 
bly a thing  of  beauty  that,  although  it  did  not  cost 
as  much  as  the  post-office,  it  is  shown  to  the  visitor 
with  no  less  pride.  The  new  public  schools  are  not 
barracks  within  and  do  not  resemble  factories  on  the 
outside.  The  factories  themselves  are  improving; 
and  public  sentiment  has  so  crystallised  that  a society 
has  been  formed  to  insist  that  rubbish  be  not  thrown 
into  the  street,  that  the  station  grounds  be  improved, 
that  flowers  be  generally  grown,  and  that  the  waste 
places  be  taken  care  of. 

This  improvement  effort  is,  however,  unguided. 


H IHevs)  ©a?  for  Cities. 


21 


There  is  immense  scope  for  the  poor  taste  of  un- 
trained individualism.  And  as  the  city  grows  larger 
and  its  resources  increase,  the  public  works  become 
more  spectacular  and  permanent,  so  that  mistakes  in 
them  last  a long  time  and  are  striking.  The  need  of 
artistic  guidance,  both  in  public  and  private  construc- 
tion, is  more  keenly  felt;  the  extravagance  and 
wastefulness  of  duplicated  effort  are  realised;  the 
value  of  an  authoritative  aesthetic  control  is  perceived, 
and  it  is  appreciated  that  to  make  true  advance  in 
civic  art  — which  is  now  frankly  a goal— there  is 
needed  something  more  than  means  and  impulse. 

Various  efforts  are  made  to  provide  the  required 
artistic  supervision.  If  these  are  reasonably  success- 
ful, the  city  — now  rich,  self-confident,  ambitious 
for  its  higher  life  and  its  development  in  beauty  — 
has  reached  an  advanced  and  healthy  phase  in  its 
evolution.  Without  much  regard  as  to  what  the 
means  are,  so  long  as  they  are  successful,  there 
dawns  a day  of  civic  art. 

The  plan  may  be  to  elect  as  administrative  officers 
of  the  city  persons  whose  education,  refinement,  and 
culture  — as  well  as  executive  ability  and  business 
sagacity  — are  a guarantee  that  the  right  things  will 
be  done  and  done  well.  This  has  been  for  the  most 
part  the  outcome  of  the  civic  reform  efforts  in  Great 
Britain,  and  has  hastened  the  dawn  among  British 
cities  of  a civic  art  based  on  business  principles.  In 
France,  under  the  leadership  of  Paris,  the  method  has 
been  to  summon  to  the  service  of  the  municipality, 


22 


flbobern  Civic  Hrt. 


in  an  advisory  capacity,  the  best  experts  and  art- 
ists of  the  city  ; and  the  result  has  been  the  develop- 
ment of  civic  aesthetics  on  thoroughly  artistic  lines. 
In  the  United  States,  where  the  effort  has  included 
the  appointment  of  “art  commissions,’"  the  banding 
together  of  cities  and  of  conscientious  city  officials  in 
leagues,  the  association  for  the  public  good  of  artists 
and  architects,  and  an  immense  amount  of  effort  by 
popular  improvement  societies, — with  the  usurpation 
by  them  of  critical  functions, — the  tendency,  so  far 
as  there  may  be  said  to  be  a tendency,  is  toward 
federation,  co-operation  , and  the  exchange  of  experi- 
ences, to  the  end  that  there  may  be  evolved  so 
precise  a science  of  city-building  that  henceforth  no 
community  need  be  ugly. 

The  German  theory  of  city  administration  is  based 
still  more  emphatically  on  scientific  principles,  almost 
to  the  exclusion  of  other  considerations;  but  it  differs 
from  the  American  in  that  its  dependence  is  not  so 
much  upon  a science  as  upon  scientists.  The  burgo- 
master and  his  magistrates  are  the  best  experts  procur- 
able, and  the  council  of  the  latter  does  not  pretend  to 
be  citizen-representative,  but  is  made  up  of  honoured, 
highly  paid,  professional,  and  permanent  employees, 
trained  to  the  work  of  city  administration.  In  Ger- 
many, therefore,  civic  art  takes  on  something  of  the 
thoroughness  and  exhaustiveness  of  German  science. 

The  varying  national  developments  of  this  late 
phase  of  urban  evolution  are  thus  interesting  mainly 
as  emphasising  the  fact  that  the  modern  movement 


a Iftew  Da?  for  Cities. 


23 


toward  civic  art  is  truly  international.  They  reveal, 
too,  that,  however  the  exact  course  of  the  evolution 
may  vary  in  different  places,  municipal  aesthetics — 
the  flowering  of  cities  into  beauty— is  the  ultimate, 
the  highest,  step.  It  is  the  phase  toward  which  all 
the  other  urban  changes  tend.  In  our  day  it  has 
been  at  once  hastened  and  elevated  by  many  ad- 
vances in  science,  by  discovery  and  invention. 

To  recapitulate : The  first  light  of  dawn  is  on  tower 
and  spire.  There,  in  the  early  days,  the  civic  re- 
naissance halted  on  the  great  buildings.  Now  it 
embraces  much  more.  Cities  are  spreading  out,  and 
there  is  the  wish  that  crowding  shall  give  way. 
There  is  the  wealth  that  wrought  wonders  of  old ; 
there  is  an  intercourse  that  levies  tribute  of  the  genius 
of  all  the  world;  there  have  been  taken  in  orderly 
sequence  the  steps  that  are  precedent  to  a new  mu- 
nicipal beauty;  and  over  all  is  the  widespread  modern 
spirit  of  social  service.  That  breathes  life  into  civic 
art.  That  puts  the  flowers  and  children  into  open 
spaces — a deed  that  is  typical  of  many ; and  makes 
our  modern  civic  art  not  aristocratic,  but  democratic; 
Christian,  not  pagan.  What  in  detail  it  will  be,  just 
what  is  the  promise  of  the  new  day  now  dawning 
lor  cities, — this  is  to  be  our  study. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WHAT  CIVIC  ART  IS. 

THE  question  properly  arises  as  to  what  muni- 
cipal art  is.  Granted  that  the  progressive 
modern  city  develops  gradually  in  beauty 
and  splendour,  is  this  normal  improvement,  which  is 
yet  more  or  less  haphazard,  civic  art?  Is  the  term, 
after  all,  a relative  one;  stands  this  art  alone  among  all 
the  arts  in  having  nothing  absolute,  nothing  sure? 
Is  there  civic  art,  or  merely  progress  toward  civic 
art,  when  macadam  is  laid  where  no  pavement  was, 
or  when  a bit  of  waste  ground  along  a river  bank  is 
secured  by  the  municipality  in  order  that  it  may  be 
never  used  for  private  ends  to  the  exclusion  of  the 
public  ? If  that  be  civic  art,  what  shall  we  say  if  the 
town,  having  secured  the  plot,  never  develops  it;  or 
if,  in  an  effort  to  “ improve,”  it  follows  wrong  coun- 
sels and  degrades  with  tastelessness  what  might  have 
been  a charming  feature  ? Shall  we  let  the  spirit 
of  the  thing  count  and  still  cry  “ Hail  ” to  civic  art  ? 
In  other  realms  of  art  there  must  be  a joint  worthi- 


24 


The  Arc  de  Triomphe,  Paris. 


TMflbat  Civic  art  Is. 


25 


ness  of  impulse  and  execution,  else  the  act  is  not 
recognised  as  art.  The  child,  or  untaught  man, 
who  would  paint  a Sistine  Madonna  and  succeeds  in 
making  only  a daub,  is  not  greeted  as  a master,  nor 
hears  the  work  called  “art,”  though  his  impulse  be 
of  the  highest  and  most  artistic.  So  in  the  plastic  art 
and  the  tonal  art,  there  is  something  absolute — a 
standard  below  which  no  handiwork  is  art,  whatever 
be  the  impulse;  above  which  beauty  is  surely  recog- 
nised and  where  the  highest  art  of  all  is  possible — 
the  coupling  of  worthy  execution  to  high  resolve  and 
noble  impulse. 

So  it  is  not  enough  that  we  should  see  the 
progressive  city  tending  normally  toward  physical 
improvement,  and  should  lay  down  therefore  a 
dictum  that  civic  art  is  a late  step  in  civic  evolution. 
We  may  well  pause  to  ask  ourselves  just  what  is 
municipal  art,  and  whether  we  mean  only  a con- 
tinuance of  improvement,  an  extension  of  sequence 
with  never  a conclusion,  when  we  talk  of  civic  art  as 
a goal. 

Perhaps  the  common  trouble  is  that  our  minds 
are  not  fixed  upon  perfection  in  this  art,  so  that  we 
forget  that  there  may  be  perfection  in  it.  For  most 
art,  it  may  be  noted,  serves  a useful  purpose  in- 
cidentally, finding  in  its  own  perfection,  in  its  own 
beauty,  such  justification  that  often  men  seek  art 
for  art’s  sake  alone ; while  with  municipal  art  the 
utilitarian  advantages  and  social  benefits  become 
so  paramount  that  they  are  not  forgotten,  are  not 


26 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


overlooked,  in  straining  for  the  sensuous  pleasure  and 
for  that  full  rounding  of  positive  attainment  which  in 
itself  may  be  the  artist’s  goal.  Here,  then,  in  this 
distinction,  comes  a suggestion  for  the  first  qualify- 
ing clause  in  the  definition  of  municipal  art.  And 
how  natural  this  first  step  of  definition  is!  This  art, 
which  serves  so  many  social  ends,  is  municipal,  in 
the  sense  of  communal. 

It  is  municipal  first  of  all.  If  men  seek  it  they 
seek  it  not  for  art’s  sake,  but  for  the  city’s;  they  are 
first  citizens  and  then,  in  their  own  way,  artists 
jealous  of  the  city’s  looks  because  they  are  citizens. 
We  do  not  find  men  and  women  banding  them- 
selves together  to  create  a public  sentiment  and 
fund  in  order  that  some  sculptor  may  do  a noble  bit 
of  work  to  the  glorifying  of  his  field  of  art.  But 
they  so  band  themselves  and  so  commission  sculpt- 
ors, painters,  artists,  and  landscape  designers,  for 
the  glorifying  of  civic  art  — not  just  because  it  is  art, 
but  because  it  is  civic.  They  are  not  asking  the 
town  to  help  art,  but  art  to  help  the  town  ; the 
artists,  not  to  glorify  their  art,  but  by  their  art  to 
glorify  the  city. 

This,  then,  is  the  first  consideration,  and  it  is 
worthy  of  more  emphasis  than  might  appear.  It 
does  something  else  than  conveniently  differentiate 
civic  art  from  any  other  art.  It  explains  why  its 
disciples  may  care  little  for  artists  though  giving 
commissions,  why  its  clientage  should  be  all  the 
urban  world  — the  art  ignorant  as  well  as  the  cult- 


TOat  Civic  Hrt  Us. 


2 7 


ured ; why  it  must  be  delayed  in  coming  until 
civilisation  is  at  its  flower,  since  not  dependent  on 
individual  and  selfish  ambition  ; and  why,  when 
coming,  it  will  magnificently  make  all  other  purely 
art  endeavours  but  handmaids  to  its  one  great  effort 
— because  this  is  social  and  the  public  is  behind  it. 

Thus  is  civic  art  first  municipal,  and  has  ever 
attained  its  largest  victories  when  cities  were  mighti- 
est. For  in  so  far  as  it  is  art,  its  principles  are 
eternal  as  the  truth,  and  its  conquests  must  be  at 
least  as  old  as  cities.  Down  through  the  Middle 
Ages,  poets  and  painters  dreamed  of  the  “city  beau- 
tiful” ; the  Irish  Gaelic  poets  sang  of  it ; barbaric 
Nero  strove  to  realise  it ; the  inspired  apostle  tran- 
scribed his  vision  in  its  terms ; Greek  philosophers 
drew  inspiration  from  the  measure  of  Athens’s  at- 
tainment of  it,  and  the  great  prophet  named  Babylon 
as  “the  glory  of  kingdoms.”  As  anciently  as  the 
dawn  with  its  golden  radiance  has  transformed  cities, 
there  has  been  a dream,  a sigh,  a reaching  forth, 
with  civic  art  the  goal. 

And  what  precisely  shall  be  the  definition  of  this 
art,  ancient  as  all  the  arts,  but  distinguished  from 
them  by  its  contentment  to  be  servant,  not  mistress, 
in  the  glorifying  of  cities  ? What  is  any  art  but  the 
right,  best  way  of  doing  a certain  thing  ? This  art, 
which  is  so  utilitarian  in  its  purposes  as  to  be  civic 
first  and  art  afterwards,  may  be  defined,  then,  as  the 
taking  in  just  the  right  way  of  those  steps  necessary 
or  proper  for  the  comfort  of  the  citizens  — as  the 


28 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


doing  of  the  necessary  or  proper  civic  thing  in  the 
right  way.  Thus  is  its  satisfaction  quite  as  much 
intellectual  as  sensuous,  and  for  popular  appreciation 
it  must  wait — because  of  its  very  practicalness  — 
upon  popular  education. 

So  civic  art  is  not  a fad.  It  is  not  merely  a bit 
of  asstheticism.  There  is  nothing  effeminate  and 
sentimental  about  it, — like  tying  tidies  on  telegraph 
poles  and  putting  doilies  on  the  cross-walks,  — it  is 
vigorous,  virile,  sane.  Altruism  is  its  impulse,  but 
it  is  older  than  any  altruism  of  the  hour  — as  old  as 
the  dreams  and  aspirations  of  men.  We  talk  much 
about  it  now,  because  we  are  living  in  a period  that 
has  witnessed  more  building  and  remodelling  of  citids 
than  any  period  of  history,  and  therefore  in  a period 
that  compels  us  to  turn  our  thoughts  to  the  best 
ways  of  making  improvements  and  to  the  principles 
that  ought  to  guide  in  building  the  modern  city. 
And  those  are  the  laws  of  civic  art,  of  the  great  art 
that  is  of  the  people  and  for  the  people,  that  is 
closest  to  their  lives,  and  that  draws  more  than  half 
its  charm  from  the  recognition  of  perfect  fitness  in  its 
achievements.  There  is  much  said  now  of  civic  art 
because  it  has  become  at  last  a popular  goal  — this 
art  of  doing  civic  things  in  the  right  way,  which  is 
ever  the  beautiful  way.  Because  this  is  true  there  is 
a civic  art. 

As  an  art  that  exists  not  for  its  own  sake,  but 
mainly  for  the  good  of  the  community,  first  for  the 
doing  of  the  thing  and  then  for  the  way  of  doing  it, 


TObat  Civic  Hrt  Us. 


29 


there  can  be  only  one  successful  civic  art.  This  will 
be  one  which  joins  utility  to  beauty.  Cities  are  not 
made  to  be  looked  at,  but  to  be  lived  in;  and  if  in 
the  decoration  of  them  there  be  any  forgetfulness  of 
that,  no  successful  civic  art  will  follow  and  the  effort 
will  defeat  itself.  Realising  this,  we  should  try  to 
discover  some  general  rules  for  guidance,  and  if  we 
succeed,  by  noting  the  requirements  and  the  vari- 
ous means  that  have  been  tried  to  satisfy  them,  we 
should  be  able  to  that  extent  to  translate  our  art  into 
a civic  science  that  will  be  more  or  less  exact — into 
the  science  of  city-building,  which  is  the  text-book 
of  civic  art.  Where  the  art  fails,  the  cause  has  been 
neglect  of  the  rules,  through  forgetfulness  or  ignor- 
ance. 

Precedent,  of  course,  to  transcribing  the  science, 
there  are  to  be  considered  the  functions  of  civic  art. 
If  the  end  be  to  clothe  utility  with  beauty,  and  in 
providing  the  beautiful  to  provide  also  that  which 
will  add  to  the  convenience  and  comfort  of  the 
citizens,  we  shall  best  find  its  opportunities  for  use- 
fulness by  studying  what  has  been  happily  called 
the  anatomy  of  cities.  In  this  there  appear  three 
groups  of  requirements:  Those  that  have  to  do  with 
circulation,  those  that  have  to  do  with  hygiene,  and 
those  that  have  to  do  distinctly  with  beauty.  No 
hard  lines  separate  these  classes.  If  in  the  street 
plan,  for  instance,  we  find  the  convenience  of  circu- 
lation— i.  e.,  readiest  adaptability  to  the  traffic  — 
the  most  pressing  point,  we  come  in  the  broad  open 


30 


flfrobern  Civic  art. 


space,  shaded  with  trees  and  planted  with  grass,  to 
a problem  that  is  to  be  approached  still  from  the  side 
of  circulation — since  convenient  short  cuts  may  be 
offered — and  yet  from  the  side  of  hygiene,  and  from 
that  of  aesthetics.  But  the  classification  remains 
convenient,  for  in  seeking  urban  welfare  and  comfort 
we  must  act  in  one  or  more  of  these  groups.  It  may 
be  briefly  asserted,  therefore,  that  the  function  of 
civic  art  is  the  making  of  artistic  — which  is  to  say, 
of  aesthetically  pleasant  — provision  for  the  circula- 
tion, for  hygiene,  and  for  city  beauty. 

It  is  important  to  note  that  beauty  itself  is  the  ob- 
ject in  only  one  of  these  three  departments  of  effort, 
and  even  then,  as  in  the  case  of  a bit  of  sculpture, 
which  certainly  belongs  under  neither  hygiene  nor 
circulation,  other  considerations,  educational  or  com- 
memorative, may  easily  modify  the  artistic  aspiration. 
Thus  the  greater  part,  if  not  the  best,  of  civic  art  is 
that  which  first  does  something  else  than  please  the 
senses.  And  that  is  why  public-spirited  men  of  all 
interests,  striving  to  ameliorate  civic  conditions  along 
many  lines,  find  in  municipal  art  one  desideratum 
upon  which  they  all  agree,  and  for  the  furtherance 
of  which  they  all  — by  many  paths  — are  working. 

Having  observed  the  purposes  of  civic  art,  we 
come  to  the  means  to  be  employed  in  gaining  them. 
Here  we  must  seek  rules  for  guidance  and  may  take 
up  art  principles.  These  are  not  new  nor  are  they 
novel.  They  are  as  old  as  beauty  and  as  broad  as 
art.  They  are  the  three  dominant  chords  on  which 


TObat  Civic  Hit  11s. 


31 


is  built  up  the  melody  of  all  art.  They  are  unity, 
variety,  and  harmony. 

If  our  civic  art  will  not  stand  its  double  test  — 
first,  the  civic  test,  as  to  the  urban  good  it  does;  and 
then  the  aesthetic  test,  it  fails.  And  this  latter  test  is 
a more  rigorous  requirement  with  civic  art  than  it 
is  with  any  other,  for  municipal  art  cannot  stand 
alone,  to  be  judged  without  its  environment— and 
the  field  in  which  it  stands  is  so  broad  to  have  unity, 
so  varied  to  have  harmony,  so  much  the  same  in 
parts  to  have  variety.  Consider  how  easily  civic  art 
may  fail  with  this  test  applied:  a thrilling  statue  on 
an  unkempt  street  is  not  successful  civic  art,  because 
its  surroundings  are  not  harmonious;  a park,  lovely 
in  itself,  may  fail,  from  this  broad  standpoint,  for 
want  of  that  unity  in  the  city  plan  which  would  lend 
to  its  location  seeming  inevitableness.  Building  re- 
strictions designed  to  insure  harmony,  but  made  too 
severe,  may  lose  their  artistic  effectiveness  by  the 
repression  of  variety  to  the  verge  of  monotony.  But 
if  it  is  easy  to  fail,  as  surely  it  is,  success  is  better 
worth  the  winning;  and  where  a city,  or  part  of  a 
city,  is  built  up  from  the  ground  plan  to  the  street 
furnishings  and  construction  with  regard  for  these 
three  principles  of  art,  how  beautiful,  consistent,  and 
intellectually  satisfying  is  the  result! 

The  desirability  of  obtaining  such  a thorough, 
general,  and  artistic  plan  of  improvement  for  every 
community  is  evident.  The  chance  to  plan  a city  on 
paper  before  it  is  built  comes  but  rarely  nowadays, 


32 


fIDobern  Civic  art. 


and  the  best  we  can  do  is  to  see  to  it  that  the  cities 
grow  artistically,  that  their  extensions  at  least  are 
beautiful,  and  that  every  change  in  the  city  itself  shall 
bring  it  one  step  nearer  to  the  ideal.  The  trouble  with 
most  improvement  effort  is  that  it  is  planned  all  by 
itself,  that  the  benefit  to  the  neighbourhood  is  studied 
rather  than  that  to  the  community,  and  that  the  first 
half-dozen  years  after  the  improvement  is  made  stand 
out  with  more  prominence  and  importance  — receive 
more  consideration  from  tax-payers  and  tax-spenders 
- than  all  the  years  that  are  to  come  thereafter.  But 
in  wise  city-building  we  would  consider  not  five 
years,  nor  ten  years,  but  posterity.  And  to  do  this 
would  be  cheaper  in  the  end. 

In  an  effort  for  civic  improvement,  therefore,  the 
first  step  is  to  secure  a comprehensive  plan.  This 
is  almost  the  only  step  that  can  insure  the  highest 
type  of  modern  civic  art,  since  requirements  are 
greater  now  than  when  artists  and  master  builders, 
dressing  with  beauty  the  narrow  streets  of  Italian 
and  Flemish  cities,  created  the  civic  art  of  five  cen- 
turies ago.  In  those  cities  urban  hygiene  and  circula- 
tion made  no  demands  on  civic  art.  Nowadays  these 
things  are  fundamental,  and  unless  there  be  a well 
thought  out,  artistically  conceived,  general  plan  to 
work  on,  our  civic  art  will  go  astray,  with  lack  of 
completeness  or  continuity.  So  it  will  fail,  because 
isolated  and  spasmodic  ; because  it  will  mean  a tine 
park,  some  patriotic  statuary,  three  or  four  good 
streets,  and  a few  noble  buildings  rather  than  a city 


milbat  Civic  art  11s. 


33 


dignified  and  lovely  as  a whole  — where  the  open 
space  does  not  stop  with  balancing  the  slum,  but  re- 
deems it.  We  have  set  for  ourselves  a more  complex 
problem  than  was  dreamed  of  by  the  Renaissance,  and 
unless  our  modern  urban  art  can  gain  it  the  result 
will  not  satisfy. 

It  is  no  reproach  to  the  present  that  so  much  has 
been  done  without  the  guidance  of  general  plans.  It 
merely  shows  that  our  art  impulse  outran  our  art 
intelligence  — a very  common  procedure.  The  archi- 
tect, the  artist,  the  landscape  gardener, — all  enthusi- 
astic,—have  gone  too  fast  for  the  civil  authorities, 
who  represent  the  people  ; and  so  the  underlying 
principles,  the  great  laws  that  should  determine  the 
laying-out  and  the  up-building  of  cities,  have  not  been 
set  down  and  studied,  as  they  should  be,  from  all 
sides.  Many  a good  thing  costs  more  than  it  ought 
to,  or  has  to  be  done  over,  and  often  the  people  have 
the  common-sense  argument  — though  the  ideals  of 
the  artists  are  true  and  high  and  their  dreams  need 
only  a little  pruning  and  a little  injection  of  worldly 
wisdom  to  be  made  thoroughly  practical.  The  great 
thing,  the  significant  thing  in  its  promise  for  the 
future,  is  that  there  are  such  dreams,  for  it  is  easy  to 
prune,  and  worldly  wisdom  is  ever  cheaper  than  in- 
spiration. If,  out  of  the  abundant  experience  now 
available,  out  of  the  many  costly  experiments  of  the 
recent  years  that  have  witnessed  in  so  marvellous  a 
degree  the  rise  and  growth  of  cities,  we  can  now 
find  enough  lessons  that  are  pertinent  and  suggestive 


34 


fIDobern  Civic  Hit. 


to  formulate  a sort  of  science  of  city-building,  we  shall 
have  something  to  guide  the  artist  and  something  to 
awaken  the  interest  and  enthusiasm  of  him  who  can- 
not dream.  It  will  be  not  the  gospel  — which  is  in 
the  heart  — but  the  law  and  the  prophets  of  modern 
civic  art. 

That,  in  fact,  is  one  of  the  great  theoretical  wants 
of  the  day.  The  dreamers  of  the  city  beautiful,  the 
countless  artists  and  laymen  who  are  working  for  the 
improvement  of  cities,  towns,  and  villages,  want  a 
theory  of  civic  art  to  which  they  can  turn.  Practi- 
cally, the  need  of  the  day  is  the  local  application  of 
this  general  theory  to  every  interested  community. 
It  is  the  attainment  of  this  end  which  is  sought  in 
urging  that  the  first  step  in  bringing  civic  art  to  a 
town  should  be  the  provision  of  a general  plan  of 
development  and  improvement ; of  a complete  and 
consistent  plan,  to  the  end  that  henceforth  every  step 
taken  should  be  a sure  step  of  progress. 

To  the  greater  part  of  the  population,  also,  the 
plan  that  is  thus  set  forth  will  represent  a new  ideal, 
and  one  which  they  will  find  readily  comprehensible 
because  concerned  so  plainly  with  the  conditions 
before  their  very  eyes,  to  the  avoidance  of  abstrac- 
tions. The  value  to  the  community  of  a civic  ideal 
scarcely  needs  exposition.  Since  realisation  of  this 
ideal  is  dependent  ultimately  upon  the  public’s  ap- 
preciation, it  will  be  brought  a great  deal  nearer  by 
the  public’s  perception  of  it.  Of  course  an  immense 
responsibility  will  be  thrown  upon  its  makers.  The 


TObat  Civic  Art  11s. 


35 


best  expert  advice  should,  unfailingly,  be  obtained ; 
but  if  the  laws  of  city-building  have  been  put  on 
paper,  it  will  not  be  hard  to  measure  the  suggestions 
by  these  laws  ; and  the  very  prominence  of  the  work 
will  give  to  it  a publicity  broadly  inviting  criticism, 
while  the  fact  that  the  progress  toward  the  ideal  must 
continue  through  a long  series  of  years  will  demand 
that  the  plan  proposed  be  able  to  bear  the  changes 
in  special  interest  and  point  of  view  which  lapse  of 
years  will  bring.  The  plan  once  secured,  the  public 
spirit  and  artistic  sense  of  the  community  can  hardly 
fail  to  insist  that  it  be  adhered  to.  Educationally,  if 
may  be  parenthetically  remarked,  knowledge  of  this 
plan,  which  is  the  perception  of  a concrete  ideal,  will 
offer  a short  cut,  doing  in  a few  months  what  can  be 
accomplished  only  very  slowly  by  the  efforts  to 
inculcate  in  school  children  civic  pride  and  aesthetic 
appreciation.  These  efforts  will  be  continued,  but 
they  will  be  given  direction  and  practicalness. 

The  provision  of  this  ideal,  the  setting  before  all 
the  people  of  a tangible  vision  of  their  own  possible 
city  beautiful,  will  have  other  value  than  merely  that 
of  popular  education.  It  will  offer  them  inspiration. 
Nor  will  this  inspiration  be  material  only,  but  as 
clearly  moral  and  political  and  intellectual.  The  pride 
that  enables  a man  to  proclaim  himself  “a  citizen  of 
no  mean  city  ” awakens  in  his  heart  high  desires  that 
had  before  been  dormant.  “To  make  us  love  our 
city  we  must  make  our  city  lovely  ” was  taken  as  its 
motto  by  the  Municipal  Art  Society  of  New  York 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


36 

when  it  was  organised,  and  he  who  loves  his  city  is 
a better  citizen  and  a better  man. 

There  will  be  other  than  merely  general  inspira- 
tion, for  the  dream  of  what  one’s  city  should  be,  and 
may  be,  and  even  some  day  must  be,  will  be  a special 
inspiration  to  all  those  professions  of  the  fine  arts 
upon  which  the  beauty  of  the  city  ultimately  depends. 
There  is  not  an  architect  of  spirit  who  will  not  feel  a 
new  incentive  when  he  thinks  that  he  is  planning 
buildings  that  are  to  be  part  of  the  city  of  the  future; 
not  a landscape  gardener  who  will  not  plant  with 
greater  care  because  of  this  vision  ; not  a sculptor 
who  will  not  throw  himself  more  devotedly  into  the 
modelling  of  the  civic  monument  that  is  to  be  one  of 
the  new  city’s  ornaments.  And  down  from  the  pro- 
fessions to  the  workers,  and  from  those  who  execute 
the  commissions  to  those  who  give  them,  will  be 
felt  the  spur  of  the  dream,  the  hope,  the  goal. 

“ 1 do  not  want  art  for  a few,”  said  William 
Morris,  “any  more  than  education  for  a few,  or  free- 
dom for  a few”  — and  civic  art  is  essentially  public 
art.  It  has  been  likened  to  “a  fire  built  upon  the 
market  place,  where  every  one  may  light  his  torch; 
while  private  art  is  a fire  built  upon  a hearthstone, 
which  will  blaze  and  die  out  with  the  rise  and  fall  of 


fortunes.” 


M 


THE  CITY’S  FOCAL  POINTS, 


P 


37 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  WATER  APPROACH. 

NO  work  of  art  is  satisfying  and  vigorous  if  it 
have  not  definiteness  of  expression.  Un- 
less it  has  something  to  say  as  to  its  own 
character,  and  says  it,  not  here  and  there,  but 
with  such  harmony  of  its  parts  that  each  adds  its 
voice  to  the  others  in  united  expression,  the  result 
is  not  pleasing.  That,  in  fact,  is  the  goal  in  mind 
when  it  is  said  that  the  three  underlying  principles 
of  art  are  unity,  variety,  and  harmony. 

Considered  from  the  standpoint,  then,  of  civic 
art,  a primary  fault  with  most  towns  and  cities 
is  the  lack  of  definiteness  in  the  impression  they 
make  as  one  approaches  them;  and  it  is  the  un- 
conscious perception  of  this  want  which  explains 
why  the  approach  by  night  is  generally  so  much 
more  satisfactory  than  by  day.  At  night  the  glow 
in  the  sky,  and  then  the  countless  lights  gleaming 
in  serried  rows,  and  every  string  of  golden  beads 
standing  for  a street,  mark  the  town  clearly,  with 


40 


flDobent  Civic  Hit. 


no  conflict  of  expression,  and  with  irresistible  appeal 
to  the  imagination.  Pinned  thus  against  the  lone- 
liness and  blackness  of  the  night,  the  composition 
has  a single  message  — that  of  warmth  and  life, 
of  the  juxtaposition  of  comfort  with  ceaseless  effort 
and  burning  desire  — which  is  the  true  message  of 
the  town.  There  is  no  jar,  there  are  no  distractions. 
The  picture  suggests  a single  thought  and  its  voice 
is  unmistakable  and  beautiful. 

And  as  a work  of  art,  the  municipality  has  a right 
to  be  considered  in  this  impressionist  way.  Socio- 
logically, indeed,  the  details  alone  are  important; 
but  artistic  details  never  make  an  artistic  whole 
unless  they  harmonise;  and  if  we  propose  by  mod- 
ern civic  art  to  rear  the  city  beautiful,  the  picture 
is  to  be  considered  as  a unit.  As  we  see  it  first, 
afar  off,  we  may  study  it  as  a composition;  and 
then,  as  we  come  nearer,  we  shall  see  details  — but 
the  first  impression  counts. 

Does  this  seem  to  be  a fantastic,  aesthetic  idea  ? 
Remember  the  often  painted  and  million  times  lov- 
ingly remembered  view  of  Florence  from  San  Miniato 
heights  — Brunelleschi’s  dome  and  Giotto’s  tower 
making  the  centre  of  a composition  which  is  an 
urban  picture  never  to  be  forgotten.  Do  you  know 
the  view  of  Rome  from  the  Campagna,  with  the 
dome  of  St.  Peter’s  rising  high  over  the  Church’s 
city;  do  you  remember  the  sea  view  of  Venice,  the 
water  lapping  the  walls  of  its  palaces;  have  you  seen 
New  York  from  the  Upper  Bay,  its  tall  buildings 


t£be  Mater  Hpproacb. 


41 


clustered  like  a forest  of  silver  birches,  gleaming  in 
the  brilliant  light  and  marking  the  town  with  unmis- 
takable personality  ? Ask  yourself  if  these  strongly 
marked  pictures  have  no  value  to  the  communities 
that  form  them  ? Are  they  a worthless  asset  in  civic 
love  and  civic  pride  ? 

On  a road  leading  out  of  Boston  into  the  suburbs 
there  is  a view  through  an  arch  of  trees  of  the  gilded 
dome  of  the  State  House  on  Beacon  Hill;  from  a 
point  on  the  Thames  there  is  a loved  view  of  St. 
Paul’s  with  central  London  clustered  about  it  — a 
vignette  that  stands  for  much.  Upon  just  such  little 
things  as  this  is  fixed  the  citizen’s  love  for  his  city; 
its  towers  and  domes  pin  his  affections,  and  the 
more  because  in  every  case  the  composition  has  in- 
evitably a meaning,  a clearness  and  accuracy  of 
significance,  that  makes  it  more  than  merely  a pretty 
picture.  It  is  a work  of  that  art  which  speaks  not  to 
the  eye  alone,  nor  to  the  head  alone,  nor  to  the  heart 
alone;  but,  unitedly,  to  senses,  brain,  and  sentiment. 
And  what  elements  go  to  make  this  picture  of  the 
city!  What  a story  it  tells  of  human  progress  or 
human  fall  — with  broken  hearts  or  blasted  lives 
among  its  shadows,  and  its  spires  and  towers  that 
gleam  in  higher  light  the  proofsof  efforts  that  have  suc- 
ceeded, of  dreams  that  have  come  true!  Think  what 
you  look  upon  when  you  see  a city,  and  reflect  that  if 
it  has  definiteness  of  expression,  if  it  says  to  you  one 
beautiful  and  appropriate  thing  clearly  and  distinctly, 
it  is  the  greatest  work  of  art  that  man  can  create. 


42 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


What  the  thing  that  it  says  shall  be,  therefore, 
— whether  a huge  advertisement  dominates  the 
scene,  whether  great  black  chimneys,  or  towers  and 
spires  rising  above  the  trees,  determine  the  picture’s 
character, — is  a question  that  may  well  make  pause 
those  who  have  a voice  in  the  selection.  It  is  not  a 
question  only  of  civic  art,  unless  that  art  be  in- 
volved with  broad  and  heavy  responsibilities.  It 
is  a question  in  part  of  civic  pride,  and  so  of  good 
citizenship;  and  its  solution  is  like  the  solution  of  all 
such  questions.  It  depends  on  the  willingness  of 
the  individual  to  surrender  a little  of  his  private 
liberty;  to  build,  not  exclusively  for  his  own  profit, 
or  even  under  the  dictates  of  his  own  artistic  sense, 
but  with  a feeling  for  the  resulting  whole. 

The  most  favourable  place  from  which  to  view  a 
city  is  usually,  as  even  the  cited  examples  suggest, 
the  water.  There  no  distracting  element  intrudes 
between  scene  and  seer.  The  waves  are  a neutral 
foreground,  sufficiently  detailed,  and  yet  with  no 
detail  to  arrest  the  eye;  and  beyond  — with  distance 
to  idealise  and  harmonise — the  city  rises  in  a con- 
trast sharp  and  urban.  The  water  view  is  one  that 
civic  art,  then,  cannot  overlook.  Happily,  from  the 
aesthetic  standpoint,  the  city  is  rare  which  is  not 
located  upon  water;  and  yet  there  is  scant  thought 
of  the  water-front  appearance,  scant  regard  for  the 
possibilities  of  the  urban  picture  where  it  should  be 
seen  most  advantageously.  The  shore  must  long 
and  perhaps  always  be  one  of  the  community’s  focal 


tXbc  Mater  approach. 


43 


points,  but  the  tendency  is  to  appear  to  turn  the 
back  upon  the  water.  At  the  water’s  edge  the  town 
began,  and  pressing  inward  and  climbing  higher  the 
beginning  is  forgotten  or  ignored,  as  if  a cause  for 
shame.  But  rather  is  it  cause  for  pride,  and  as  the 
city  grows  the  water  gate  is  still  the  entrance,  the 
view  across  the  waves  the  first  picture  still  for 
growing  numbers.  If  civic  art  is  anywhere  to  be 
jealous  of  results,  there  is  no  point  that  can  more 
fittingly  demand  attention  than  this  — the  picture  of 
the  city  from  its  river,  its  lake,  or  sea.  Whatever 
the  body  of  water,  it  will  bear  its  multitude  of  ob- 
servers, for  if  the  narrow  river  would  seem  to  have 
fewer  than  the  port  of  sea  or  lake,  remember  that  the 
farther  shore,  and  every  bridge  that  spans  the  stream, 
affords  the  water  view. 

As  to  details,  civic  art,  as  the  effort  to  make  cities 
beautiful,  cannot  afford  to  let  slip  the  opportunity  of 
a bit  of  natural  open  space  in  such  location.  For 
here,  at  last,  however  close  the  buildings  press  upon 
it,  the  breezes  play  at  will  and  the  sun  shines  in  un- 
broken radiance.  No  expression  of  nature  is  so  wel- 
come in  a city  as  is  water,  with  its  care-free,  gay, 
and  tireless  playfulness.  Even  in  the  street  fountain 
it  is  a ceaseless  pleasure  and  in  the  park’s  artificial 
pond  or  stream  a constant  joy.  No  city  with  so 
great  an  aesthetic  asset  at  its  feet  should  fail  to  utilise 
it,  or  part  of  it,  for  aesthetic  purposes,  though  there 
be  ever  so  foolish  an  indifference  to  the  picture  that 
the  city  itself  may  make  when  seen  across  the  waves. 


44 


flDobertt  Civic  art. 


This  accepted  as  a primary  principle  of  civic  art, 
it  is  to  be  understood  that  there  is  no  need  for  such 
use  of  the  water-front  to  interfere  with  that  com- 
mercial or  industrial  use  of  it  which  was  a cause  of 
the  town’s  location  there.  If  the  stream  be  swift 
enough  to  furnish  power,  it  has  a natural  beauty 
that  requires  only  a place  for  observation  ; if  the 
body  of  water  be  large  enough  for  navigation,  the 
craft  afloat  upon  it  will  furnish  life  and  picturesque- 
ness to  add  the  charm  of  variety  and  human  inter- 
est to  the  natural  majesty  of  the  scene.  To  give  up, 
then,  the  practical  use  of  the  water  would  be  even 
to  rob  it  of  some  of  its  urban  attractiveness.  In  fact, 
because  the  city  represents  essentially  man’s  conquest 
of  nature,  the  water  within  its  confines  and  which 
induced  men  to  settle  there  may  most  fittingly  ap- 
pear as  “harnessed,”  to  do  men’s  work,  or  as 
bridled,  to  bear  their  burdens.  /Esthetically,  we 
should  not  demand  the  abandonment  of  the  use  of 
the  water  — only  a place  whence,  with  all  its  activ- 
ities, it  may  be  seen,  for  civic  art  assumes  that  the 
stream  on  which  a city  is  located  will  not  be  trans- 
formed into  an  open  sewer. 

But  the  problem  of  the  water-front,  which  is  so 
fascinating  in  the  concrete  example,  since  a scenic 
effectiveness  can  be  certainly  added  to  convenience 
and  utility,  gains  in  an  abstract  consideration  almost 
baffling  complexity.  There  are  so  many  kinds  of 
shore  line,  both  as  respects  the  topography  and  the 
use  to  which  the  shore  is  put,  that  in  general  dis- 


<Xbe  Mater  approach. 


45 


cussion  only  the  broadest  rules  can  be  suggested. 
On  this  point,  more  than  in  any  other  problem  of 
modern  civic  art,  there  must  be  a feeling  of  concrete 
incompleteness  and  of  total  inadequacy  in  the  abs- 
tract consideration.  For  all  the  time  there  must  be 
the  consciousness,  so  discouraging  from  this  point  of 
view, — but  so  inspiring  from  another, — that  for  the 
particular  water-front  that  may  be  most  in  the  mind, 
there  is  possible  a thrillingly  noble  solution  which 
here  is  hardly  touched  upon  and  to  which  much 
even  of  what  is  said  has  the  scantiest  pertinence. 

Among  the  varieties,  then,  of  town  and  city 
water-front  there  can  be  few  qualities  that  are 
universal ; but  generally  it  can  be  assumed  that 
there  will  be  an  accessible  space  somewhere  along 
the  shore  that  is  not  required  for  docks  or  wharves 
or  mills.  This  should  be  reserved  for  the  public  en- 
joyment of  the  community’s  chief  aesthetic  asset  — 
not  relinquished  to  individual  exclusiveness.  But 
if  there  be  no  inch  of  shore  that  commerce  and  in- 
dustry do  not  demand,  there  still  are  the  upper  floors 
of  the  piers,  and  generally  — the  banks  rising  from  the 
water’s  edge  — an  opportunity  for  a drive  or  prome- 
nade so  elevated  that  the  demands  of  commerce 
must  be  satisfied  below  the  level  of  this  pleasure 
ground,  since  its  needs  have  to  be  met  at  the  water’s 
margin.  Finally,  if  our  water  be  a stream,  with 
broad  mud-flats  on  one  or  either  side,  which  only  the 
freshets  or  incoming  tide  conceal,  the  solution  gen- 
erally is  to  confine  and  quicken  the  current  within 


46 


flDobern  Civic  act. 


the  town  by  walls  of  masonry,  so  that  with  more 
rapid  movement  it  shall  scour  its  bed  and  shall  carry 
off  the  surplus  waters  of  the  freshet  without  a flood, 
or  with  the  flowing  tide  shall  rise  harmlessly  with- 
in its  walls.  Then  the  flats  can  be  reclaimed  and 
changed  to  park  lands  ; and  the  new  value  of  the 
adjacent  property,  and  the  shortening  of  the  bridges, 
involving  reduced  cost  of  building,  will  offset  much 
of  the  expense  involved. 

But  to  return  to  that  first  picture  of  the  city  as  it  is 
seen  across  the  water  by  the  approaching  voyager, 
to  that  view  which — in  so  far  as  civic  art  is  art — may 
logically  demand  the  first  consideration,  and  which, 
as  the  first  revelation  of  the  city,  is  to  mean  so  much, 
what  is  the  character  that  it  ought  to  have  ? We 
have  seen  that  scenically  it  should  be  the  best  view. 
The  sloping  or  terraced  site,  the  orderly  edging  of  the 
town,  the  neutral  foreground — all  these  are  conditions 
very  favourable  to  an  urban  picture  that  will  please. 
But  in  the  reality  the  scene  that  should  be  so  splendid 
is  too  often  mean ; the  edge  of  the  town  that  should 
be  orderly  is  ragged  and  bedraggled;  where  cleanliness 
should  be  easiest,  filth  is  common;  where  relative 
age  should  give  an  appearance  of  permanence  and 
stability,  there  still  are  temporary  structures.  The 
town  has  turned  its  back  on  its  best  feature,  and 
again  and  again  whatever  of  it  is  most  shabby,  mean, 
and  sordid  crowds  upon  this  natural  vestibule.  The 
explanation  will  vary  with  different  localities.  Here 
it  is  the  greed  of  commerce  and  a hasty  surrender  to 


<Xbe  Mater  approach. 


47 


its  demands;  there  the  railroad  came  in,  to  the 
destruction  of  some  of  the  usefulness  of  the  water, 
and  the  town,  turning  away  in  disgust,  gathered 
around  the  station,  forgetting  until  too  late  that  what 
had  been  a source  of  commercial  wealth  and  power 
might  be  still  a source  of  beauty.  But  long  before 
the  wretchedness  of  details  impresses  the  voyager,  he 
must  usually  look  in  vain  for  definiteness  of  character. 

What  is  the  definite  impression  he  ought  to  gain? 
Here  is  the  water  gate  of  the  city.  He  should  see 
before  him  the  special,  not  merely  the  general, 
character  of  the  place.  The  latter  will  be  inevitably 
revealed  by  the  clustered  buildings— be  they  the 
hotels  and  villas  of  a resort,  the  warehouses  and 
dominating  chimneys  of  an  industrial  community,  or 
the  surmounting  minarets  and  domes  of  an  Oriental 
seaport;  but  the  stamp  of  national  and  local  charac- 
teristics should  not  suffice.  The  thing  to  be  sought 
is  the  relation  of  this  town  to  this  body  of  water — the 
special  meaning  of  its  own  particular  water-front. 

In  most  cases  the  function  of  this  is  to  be  a vesti- 
bule. It  is  an  entrance  to  the  city,  and  generally  the 
entrance  that  means  most  to  it.  There  should  be, 
therefore,  dignity,  nobility,  and  prominence.  To  the 
portal  suggestion  of  the  term  “water  gate”  there 
should  be  given  structural  expression;  of  the  import- 
ance of  this  focal  point  there  should  be  topographical 
evidence.  The  voyager  should  be  made  to  realise, 
as  he  comes  nearer  to  the  apex  of  the  curving  shore- 
line, that  he  is  coming  to  the  entrance  of  the  town. 


48 


fIDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


To  the  architect,  the  occasion  offers  a rare  oppor- 
tunity, not  merely  in  a personal  sense  in  the  setting 
of  his  building  and  the  certainty  that  it  can  be  ever 
seen  in  perspective;  but  in  a civic  sense,  to  the 
degree  that  a chance  is  well-nigh  changed  to  a duty. 
To  the  landscape  gardener,  if  there  be  some  of  the 
water-front  that  commerce  can  spare  to  beauty,  the 
opportunity  is  equally  noble.  He  has  here,  and 
at  last,  a canvas  that  can  be  studied  in  its  whole  as 
well  as  in  parts.  And  finally  the  municipality  itself 
finds  on  the  water-front  a condition  to  which  civic 
duty  clearly  pertains — in  the  opportunity  so  to  con- 
struct the  public  works  that  they  shall  enhance  the 
attractiveness  of  the  city  and  shall  do  justice  to  its 
importance. 

These,  clearly,  are  the  general  principles  that 
should  guide  in  the  treatment  of  the  urban  water- 
front. Specifically,  the  problem  is  more  abstruse 
owing  to  the  many  kinds  of  water-front  and  the 
many  uses  to  which  it  may  be  put.  Even  in  the 
same  community  the  problem  may  have  many 
sides. 

The  city  of  New  York,  for  instance,  has  about  a 
hundred  miles  of  water-front:  but  it  is  fortunate 
in  having  at  the  Battery  a spot  that  is  clearly  the 
centre  of  the  composition — from  every  standpoint. 
Here,  inevitably,  it  was  proposed  to  place  the  naval 
arch  and  to  make  the  formal  entrance  to  the  city. 
The  structure  was  to  be  of  great  size,  and  it  was 
intended  that  the  treatment  of  the  sea  wall,  basin, 


Hh e Mater  approach. 


49 


beacons,  steps,  etc.,  should  not  merely  harmonise 
but  should  form  a very  important,  and  by  no  means 
the  least  beautiful,  part  of  the  design.  The  project 
was  interesting  as  a concrete  development  of  the 
principles  and  theory  of  water-gate  treatment.  It 
thus  reduces  to  a splendid  specific  illustration  what 
had  been  an  abstract  argument,  just  as  does,  on  a 
smaller  scale,  the  harbour  treatment  of  Bordeaux, 
of  Genoa,  and  of  a few  other  foreign  ports.  It  pict- 
ures what  a city  ought  to  have. 

In  the  miles  of  docks  and  flimsy  pier  sheds,  in 
the  meanness  of  the  long  water-front  streets,  New 
York,  like  most  American  seaports,  teaches  what 
should  not  be  done,  rather  than  what  should  be 
done.  European  cities  must  be  sought  for  examples 
on  a large  scale  of  adequate  commercial  treatment 
at  the  water’s  edge.  The  raised  promenade  of 
Antwerp  or,  better  yet,  of  Algiers,  and  the  con- 
structive orderliness  of  Hamburg,  for  instance,  are 
suggestions  that  have  not  failed  completely  of  appli- 
cation. The  need  is  not  so  much  to  appreciate 
wretchedness  where  it  exists,  nor  to  point  out 
means  of  improvement,  as  to  translate  aspiration 
into  action.  New  York  itself,  as  a city,  has  begun 
with  the  necessary  elementary  construction  of  new 
docks  and  widened  streets,  and  conscious  aesthetic 
effort  may  follow.  Certain  it  is  that  with  a hundred 
miles  of  water-front  there  must  be  spaces  that 
commerce  can  spare  to  pleasure;  some  areas,  more 
accessible  and  greater  than  have  been  yet  dedi- 


5° 


flftobern  Civic  art. 


rated  to  public  use,  where  the  ceaseless  beauty 
of  the  waves,  the  free  breezes,  and  the  tireless  pan- 
orama of  the  shipping  can  be  popularly  enjoyed. 
But  even  now,  with  the  scanty  provision  of  these 
spaces,  the  water-front  problem  of  the  greater  city  is 
one  of  many  typical  phases.  The  universal  problem, 
however,  can  be  best  considered  doubtless  by  ex- 
amining examples  of  various  types  of  water-front 
treatment  wherever  these  may  be  found,  without 
regard  to  a single  city. 

Paris,  with  the  quays  along  the  Seine,  and  London, 
still  more  successfully,  with  the  ambitious  Victoria 
Embankment,  represent  an  elaborate,  formal  treat- 
ment almost  common  in  Europe  when  a river  bisects 
a town.  Examples  of  such  treatment  gradate  from 
the  simple  quays  of  Florence  and  Pisa  and  the  brick 
walls  of  Amsterdam’s  placid  canals  to  the  long  prom- 
enades and  broad  walled-gardens  of  Budapest,  or 
even  to  the  sea-front,  as  at  Nice.  Passenger  travel  by 
light  steamers  is  easily  cared  for  under  these  condi- 
tions, and  from  the  standpoint  of  modern  civic  art 
the  formal,  the  architectural,  and  the  urban  character 
of  the  treatment,  with  its  engineering  excellence  and 
hygienic  merits,  is  wholly  to  be  commended.  It  has, 
as  the  best  civic  art  must  have,  the  beauty  of  utility. 
It  is  dignified  and  harmonious;  it  fittingly  sets  off 
the  architecture  that  lies  beyond  it;  it  builds  the  city 
to  the  water’s  edge  with  orderly  stateliness;  it  offers 
the  desired  vantage-points  for  observation.  It  is  an 
old  form  of  treatment,  but  in  its  spirit  and  in  the 


Ebc  Mater  approach. 


51 


results  accomplished  it  is  thoroughly  modem.  Bos- 
ton has  been  discussing  it  for  the  Charles  River,  and 
a recent  State  law  of  Iowa  — passed  at  the  request 
of  awakened  communities — gives  to  towns  bisected 
by  meandering  streams  the  right  thus  to  narrow  the 
channel  and  save  aesthetically  (as  also  economically) 
the  reclaimed  land. 

Upon  the  quays  there  will  be  a shaded  prome- 
nade and,  if  they  be  long  enough  and  broad  enough, 
a drive.  Beyond  this,  which  itself  may  be  beyond 
a strip  of  turf,— when  that  can  be  provided,  — will 
come  the  buildings.  The  quays  will  not  straighten 
the  shore-line,  but  will  follow  its  pleasing  curves,  so 
gaining  new  points  of  view  and  vistas  that  had  else 
been  lost,  and  new  points  of  observation  whence  to 
study  the  facades.  The  device  may  thus  be  called 
an  urbanisation  of  the  always  pleasant  rural  shore- 
road.  It  is  that  road  extended,  where  space  is  too 
precious  to  permit  the  river  to  wander  freely  and 
flood  its  banks  at  the  whim  of  storm  or  season  — 
that  road  made  formal  and  stately,  to  harmonise  with 
the  construction  that  presses  upon  it,  and  made  be- 
coming the  wealth  and  resources  of  a city.  It  is 
adapted  to  all  the  variations  of  conditions  where 
town  and  shore-line  meet.  Here  there  may  be  broad 
planting  at  its  side  and  villas  set  far  back;  there  it 
will  take  its  devious  way  before  lofty  buildings  and 
at  the  head  of  crowded  streets,  now  rising  to  a via- 
duct that  commerce  may  flow  beneath  it  unhampered 
by  its  invitation  to  luxurious  indolence;  and  now, 


flDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


circling  the  tenement  district  with  a necklace  of 
lights,  it  broadens  here  and  there  into  a playground. 
Where  the  shores  are  low,  and  there  is  not  space  for 
a broad  park  on  the  water-front,  and  where  the  level 
of  the  river  falls  and  rises  sharply,  this  is  quite  the 
ideal  treatment. 

In  the  case  of  a stream,  bridges  must  form  a very 
important  feature  of  the  water-front  development, 
merely  considered  architecturally  and  scenically.  The 
bridges  that  spring  from  the  quays  of  Paris  seem  an 
inseparable  part  of  the  construction.  It  happens  that 
they  are  separable,  and  rarely  coincident  in  date  with 
it;  but  this  does  not  appear.  The  bridge  that  begins 
and  ends  in  the  quay  must  harmonise  with  the  quay; 
and  the  quay  must  provide,  in  broadened  plaza  and 
hospitality  to  converging  streets,  a bridge  approach 
that  shall  be  at  once  suitable  and  convenient  for  the 
travel.  The  surface  appearance  of  the  bridge  be- 
longs to  another  discussion.  We  are  here  considering 
the  town’s  water  approach,  where  only  a lateral  view 
of  the  bridge  is  offered  — the  one  view,  however, 
that  adequately  gives  the  structure’s  architectural 
value;  and  with  its  art  importance  alone  is  there  now 
concern.  Engineering  merit  is  assumed. 

Stone  construction,  or  at  least  stone  piers,  are 
obviously  invited  strongly  by  the  masonry  of  the 
embankment  in  order  to  secure  harmony.  Beyond 
this,  the  charm  of  the  bridge  will  lie  mainly  in  long 
horizontal  reaches.  Perpendicular  motives  will  not 
be  necessary;  and  though  it  is  quite  the  fashion,  in 


Cbe  Mater  approach. 


53 


the  rare  cases  of  an  effort  to  make  bridges  monu- 
mental, to  put  a tower,  or  towers,  in  the  centre,  there 
is  always  a danger  that  these  will  have  an  isolated 
appearance.  The  place  for  the  monumental  treat- 
ment is  at  that  point  on  the  shore  which  is  to  be 
emphasised  as  the  water  gate;  but  the  bridge,  if  de- 
signed conscientiously  as  a work  of  art  that  shall  be 
permanent,  as  cities  go,  and  always  very  conspicu- 
ous, may  be  made  a thing  of  beauty  with  no  such 
piling  on  of  ornamentation.  Of  course  at  times  the 
necessity  for  a centre  draw  justifies,  and  even  re- 
quires, perpendicular  motives;  but  these  need  not  be 
deliberately  invited  to  make  the  bridge  imposing.  If 
they  are  invited,  the  ideal  place  for  them  is  at  the 
structure’s  end.  There  they  may  easily  emphasise 
the  portal  significance  which  all  bridges  have  when 
the  water  which  they  span  forms  the  boundary  of  the 
town.  Interesting  examples  of  this  effect  are  offered 
by,  for  instance,  the  Karl  Bridge  at  Prague,  and  the 
railroad  bridge  at  Mayence.  In  fact,  of  the  latter  it 
has  been  remarked  that  while  the  bridge  is  of  the 
very  ordinary  truss  type,  the  architects  have  saved  it 
aesthetically  by  providing  “a  handsome  and  impos- 
ing, not  to  say  romantic,  entrance,  which  not  even 
railroad  tracks  can  ruin.”  Further  than  that,  it  is  an 
entrance,  we  may  note,  that  has  meaning. 

There  are  other  principles  which  will  be  useful  as 
guides  in  choosing  bridge  designs  that  are  likely  to 
please.  Not  only  should  the  structure  harmonise,  as 
far  as  possible,  with  the  quays  and  with  its  general 


54 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


setting,  not  only  should  its  beauty  be  sought  mainly 
in  long  horizontal  reaches, — to  the  distrust  of  perpen- 
dicular effects,  using  the  latter  at  the  bridge  ends  if 
at  all  (when  this  is  possible), — but  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  the  beauty  of  the  bridge  as  a whole  de- 
pends most  on  its  main  lines.  Any  attempt  to  deceive 
as  to  the  nature  and  position  of  these  by  concealing 
them  with  ornament  can  only  fail,  being  false  to 
every  principle  of  art.  To  beauty  of  form  in  these 
main  lines,  there  must  then  be  added  symmetry. 
Imagine  a stone  bridge  of  several  arching  spans.  It 
is  not  enough  that  the  lines  of  these  spans  be  lovely. 
There  must  be  symmetry  between  the  spans  them- 
selves, so  that,  for  example,  on  either  side  of  the 
centre  they  shall  be  equal  in  number  and  size  — an 
obvious  matter,  and  yet  one  often  ignored.  And  the 
bridge  must  seem  to  harmonise  with  its  natural  set- 
ting and  its  purpose  as  well  as  with  its  constructed 
terminal.  This  applies  to  the  degree  of  its  massive- 
ness, to  the  character  of  the  scenery,  or,  if  it  be  in 
the  midst  of  a city,  to  the  style  of  the  architecture 
amid  which  it  stands. 

Let  it  be  recalled  that  while  the  purpose  of  the 
bridge  is  utilitarian  there  is  no  other  structure  in 
the  city  that  has  greater  permanence,  or  as  great  a 
prominence,  for  good  or  ill.  There  is  nothing  that 
should  be  built  with  more  consideration  for  the  art- 
istic result.  Indeed,  is  it  not  true  that  a bridge  across 
the  Thames  in  London  is  upon  the  same  plane  of 
monumental  and  architectural  importance  as  is  St. 


TTbe  Mater  approach. 


55 


Paul’s  itself,  and  so  makes  demand  for  the  like 
skill  and  taste  to  design  and  to  embellish  it  ? The 
Romans,  who  were  the  great  bridge-builders  of  an- 
tiquity, had  no  higher  title  to  bestow  than  the  term 
“ Pontifex  Maximus” — greatest  builder  of  bridges. 
And  to-day,  in  an  industrial  age,  it  may  be  re- 
marked, the  bridge  and  viaduct  are  to  us  about  what 
the  town  gate  was  to  the  builders  of  ancient  times, 
so  that  it  behooves  us  to  demand  not  merely  strength 
but  dignity  and  a civic  splendour,  in  their  construc- 
tion. Every  city  bridge  is  an  opportunity;  and  as  to 
the  smaller  towns,  how  charming  a memorial  a beau- 
tiful bridge  might  be!  The  triumphal  arch  can  be 
made  effective  only  at  great  expense.  It  is  a vain- 
glorious type;  while  in  the  bridge  the  arch  is  at  the 
service  of  humanity. 

Of  the  river-front  facades,  as  seen  from  the  water 
or  across  the  quay,  it  is  difficult  to  speak  as  fully  in 
general  terms.  But  it  can  be  said  that  where  the 
buildings  stand  close,  a degree  of  uniformity  in  height, 
and  harmony  in  style  at  least,  will  add  very  greatly 
to  the  appearance  of  solidarity  — a desideratum  in 
the  water  view  of  a city.  And  it  has  been  already 
suggested  that  if  the  shore-line  be  permitted  to  retain 
its  curves,  the  facades  will  be  thereby  rendered  more 
effective,  their  planes  changing  to  conform  with  the 
curves  of  the  shore. 

Finally,  it  should  be  pointed  out  that  of  the  famous 
cities  of  the  Old  World  that  are  situated  on  rivers, 
many  owe  a large  part  of  their  splendour  to  the 


56 


fIDo&ern  Civic  Art. 


aesthetic  use  of  the  water-front.  Examples  are:  Lon- 
don, of  which  the  chief  monumental  features  are  the 
embankment  and  the  bridges;  Paris,  where  every 
inch  of  the  river  bank  is  utilised;  Rome,  with  its 
vigorous  bridges  and  new  development  of  the  river 
course;  Budapest,  which  finds  in  the  river  the  key 
to  its  whole  scheme;  Prague,  where  the  aesthetic 
interest  is  largely  centred  on  the  embankment 
and  fine  bridge;  Berlin,  where  the  bridges  are 
made  monumental,  though  the  unimportant  river  is 
slighted;  Dresden,  which  has  pointed  the  way  for 
many  a smaller  place;  and  Munich,  with  its  Quai- 
strasse. 

When  the  land  terminates  in  bluffs  that  can  be 
planted,  at  the  top  at  least;  or  when  — even  with  a 
low  shore  — opportunity  is  offered  for  a water-side 
park,  however  narrow,  we  may  have  a chance  for 
the  pleasantest  kind  of  water-front  treatment.  There 
is  no  need  to  go  into  specifications  here,  for  it  is  the 
charm  of  landscape  gardening  that  it  is  as  infinite  in 
its  varieties  as  the  earth  itself,  being  an  adaptation  to 
topography  and  all  natural  conditions.  But  to  bring 
nature  to  nature,  so  to  dress  this  important  part  of 
the  town  that  looking  into  the  water  it  sees  mirrored 
there  laughing  nature,  is  a more  pleasing  art  than 
formal  building  to  the  water’s  edge.  There  is  needed 
only  a trained  mind  and  eye  to  make  much  of  the 
possibility,  and  so  fair  is  the  result  — of  such  blessing 
to  the  city — that  it  may  reasonably  be  urged  that  all 
the  stream  banks  of  a town  that  are  not  actually  re- 


Gbe  Mater  approach. 


57 


quired  for  commerce  should  be  put  in  the  hands 
of  park  commissioners,  to  be  defended,  in  natural 
beauty,  from  rubbish  heaps  and  spoliation.  Even  if 
the  stream  be  one  which  furnishes  power,  the  banks 
may  be  reserved.  We  shall  refer  to  this  again,  under 
“Parks.” 

And  there  is  another  thought  in  regard  to  the 
water-front.  When  the  body  of  water  is  navigable, 
here  is  an  appropriately  beautiful  site  for  many  a civic 
pageant.  Nowhere  does  music  make  more  sensual 
appeal  than  on  the  water;  with  far  more  beauty  than 
on  the  street  can  the  pageant  that  goes  by  water  be 
invested,  and  in  greater  variety  can  it  be  dressed. 
The  very  fact  of  holding  the  pageant  here  will  tend, 
too,  to  emphasise  the  value  of  the  waterway  as  a 
thoroughfare,  and  will  make  the  public  ownership  of 
the  banks,  whence  its  beauty  may  be  seen,  of  a value 
better  understood  and  esteemed. 

So,  to  recall  the  points  observed,  modern  civic 
art  requires  for  the  water-front,  all  too  commonly 
neglected,  primary  consideration.  It  would  consider 
first  the  far-off  picture,  of  the  town  as  a whole;  then 
the  nearer  view,  when  we  seek  for  definiteness  of 
character,  and  look  along  the  shore  for  something  to 
indicate  the  significance  of  this  portal  to  the  city; 
then  the  details  when,  drawing  yet  nearer,  we  es- 
timate the  city’s  importance  and  wealth  and  genius 
by  the  way  it  is  built  to  the  water’s  edge,  and  if 
there  be  bridges,  by  the  beauty  of  these.  What  is 
the  city’s  attractiveness;  are  its  public  works  beauti- 


58 


fIDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


ful;  has  it  regard  for  sanitation;  have  its  people  free 
access  to  the  shore  and  a chance  for  enjoyment  there, 
or,  as  if  in  bondage  have  they  allowed  greed  to  hud- 
dle them  into  the  inland  streets  ? 

Modern  civic  art,  as  one  can  guess  by  these  quest- 
ions, is  never  a mere  aesthete.  Loving  beauty,  it 
loves  humanity  yet  better.  It  wants  the  surround- 
ings of  men  to  be  clean,  wholesome,  and  uplifting,  as 
well  as  pleasant  to  see.  Personified,  modern  civic 
art  appears  as  a sort  of  social  reformer,  for  if  the  eye 
be  that  of  the  artist,  there  yet  is  surely  in  it  the  tear 
of  the  philanthropist. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  LAND  APPROACH. 

THE  city  that  has  only  a water  approach  is  too 
rare  to  be  taken  into  the  calculation.  Civic 
art  has  to  consider  quite  as  certainly  the  re- 
quirements and  possibilities  of  the  approach  by  land, 
and  it  finds  in  the  problem  not  only  great  importance 
but  an  interest  that  might  hardly  be  anticipated. 

This  problem  had  in  the  past  a worthier  treatment 
than  had  the  approach  by  water,  because  when  the 
cities  were  walled  it  was  necessary  to  make  a special 
and  formal  provision  for  the  land  entrance.  But  this 
worthier  treatment  ceased  after  a time,  for  when  the 
walls  were  razed,  or  when  towns  were  built  without 
surrounding  walls,  the  problem  became  too  diffused 
for  visibly  concentrated  solving.  The  city  was  suf- 
fered simply  to  “taper  off”  on  the  land  side,  with 
no  mark  of  its  end  or  beginning  — unless  it  were  a 
light,  a pavement,  or  a curb.  There  was  no  adequate 
recognition  of  so  important  a matter  as  the  city’s 
threshold. 


6o 


flDobem  Civic  Hrt. 


The  period  was  one  of  transition  in  the  develop- 
ment of  cities,  but  it  was  one  of  vast  importance.  It 
meant  a better  day  for  them,  for  more  aesthetic  possi- 
bilities were  involved  in  the  change  than  could  at 
once  be  grasped.  The  city  now  had  room  to  grow, 
to  spread  out  in  all  directions,  to  shake  itself  loose, 
after  long  compression,  and,  like  a plant  restored  to 
its  natural  environment,  to  thrust  out  its  streets  as 
tendrils  binding  it  to  the  earth  again.  This  was  the 
first,  almost  involuntary,  effect,  and  every  country- 
leading thoroughfare  became  an  “ entrance.” 

Not  only  were  these  land  entrances  to  the  city 
too  numerous  now  for  elaborate  topographical  or 
structural  designation,  but  their  location  was  con- 
stantly changing  as  the  tendril-streets  grew  longer 
and  reached  farther,  while  the  whole  impulse  of  the 
movement  — in  reaction  from  the  previous  huddled 
condition  of  cities  — was  toward  an  obliteration  of 
the  line  that  had  once  divided  town  and  country. 
This  was  to  be  effected,  not  by  the  urbanisation  of 
the  country  but  by  the  ruralisation  of  the  town,  by 
the  breaking  down  of  barriers  so  that  the  country 
might  flow  with  unrestraint  through  city  streets. 
Thus  there  was  scant  wish  to  mark  formally  the 
inland  entrances  to  the  town. 

With  the  coming  of  the  railroads  conditions  again 
changed.  Passengers  by  rail  had  a single  definite 
point  of  arrival  and  departure,  which  for  practical 
purposes  was  to  them  the  town’s  entrance.  Here 
they  left  the  city  to  enter  the  train,  or  left  the 


Gbe  Xanb  approach. 


6 


train  to  emerge  into  city  streets.  Their  senses  had 
here  the  first  opportunity  for  a “time  exposure”  in 
which  to  secure  a lasting  picture  of  the  town.  From 
the  moment  of  passing  the  city  boundaries  until  the 
station  was  reached  there  had  been  at  best  a chance 
for  no  more  than  “ snapshots,”  the  first  serious  view 
proving  that  obtained  as  they  issued  from  the  station 
portal.  And  to  add  importance  to  this  new  civic  en- 
trance, the  passengers  by  railroad  became  far  the 
greater  portion  of  all  those  who  entered  or  left  the 
town  by  land.  In  its  railroad  stations,  therefore, 
the  town  had  suddenly  new,  permanent,  and  formal 
entrances. 

This  urban  significance,  with  its  architectural 
opportunity,— not  to  say  obligation,— was  hardly 
grasped  popularly.  Here  and  there  an  architect 
comprehended  it,  and  made  his  design  in  accord- 
ance— perhaps  with  a good  deal  of  personal  satis- 
faction but  with  so  little  public  appreciation  that 
the  efforts  appear  sporadically.  That  so  obvious  a 
significance  could  be  overlooked,  must  be  attributed 
in  part,  no  doubt,  to  the  circumstance  that  the 
railroad  in  succeeding  the  stage-coach  was  long 
regarded  as  merely  a development  of  the  latter.  In 
Europe  the  cars  are  still  made  in  semblance  of  the 
body  of  a coach,  and  in  England  they  are  still  called 
“carriages.”  So  the  railroad  station  was  thought 
of  as  an  inn  or  roadhouse  in  highly  advanced  form, 
and  very  often  to-day  the  station  proper  — the  wait- 
ing rooms  and  platform  — is  made  only  secondary 


62 


flDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


and  incidental  to  a hotel,  the  architect  throwing 
the  outward  structural  emphasis  on  the  latter 
function. 

Much  of  the  neglect  of  the  station’s  real  meaning 
is  due,  then,  to  that  distraction  and  confusion  con- 
sequent upon  the  mistaking  of  incidentals  for  es- 
sentials. In  this  confusion  a factor  of  some  influence 
appeared  in  the  entirely  natural  development  of  a 
portion  of  the  station  structure  as  a clock  tower. 
The  necessity  of  punctuality  on  the  part  of  the 
citizens  when  going  to  the  station  invites  the  fixing 
here  of  a clock  that  can  be  widely  seen,  and  so  in 
station  after  station  the  clock  tower  is  found.  There 
is  nothing  in  this  construction  incompatible  with 
a portal  expression,  if  only  the  wish  to  make  the 
latter  be  kept  in  mind1;  but  what  with  the  use  of 
an  important  part  of  the  building  for  offices  or 
for  a hotel,  with  this  arrangement  of  a clock  con- 
spicuously on  its  exterior,  and  the  recollection  that 
the  railway  itself  is  the  successor  of  the  stage-coach. 
- the  permanency  of  whose  right-of-way  was  never 
fixed,— there  is  many  a temptation  to  forget  that 
the  station  is  the  gate  of  the  town.  The  costly  new 
Paris  terminal  of  the  Paris,  Lyons,  and  Mediterra- 
nean Railroad,  for  example,  has  about  its  ornate 
and  Frenchy  facade,  from  a corner  of  which  a decor- 
ated clock  tower  is  tossed  jubilantly  into  the  air, 
no  suggestion  whatever  of  the  portal  of  a city. 

Yet,  we  have  said,  portal  significance  is  not  en- 

1 Witness:  The  Gross  Horlage  in  Rouen,  or  the  Clock  Tower  in  Bern. 


£bc  Xanb  approach. 


63 


tirely  ignored.  Not  only  do  architects  occasion- 
ally appreciate  it  and  indicate  it  deliberately,  but 
the  very  sweep  of  a train-shed’s  arched  roof  in  the 
terminal  station  is  so  suggestive  of  an  entrance  that 
many  times  the  structure  quite  inevitably  assumes 
that  character  when  there  is  offered  no  opportunity 
to  screen  the  curve,  wjiile  the  architect  who  de- 
sires to  emphasise  the  portal  idea  finds  therein  a 
strikingly  good  chance.  Again,  the  very  volume 
of  the  travel  here,  reaching  in  its  convergence  and 
dispersion  all  parts  of  the  town,  has  invited  for 
practical  convenience  the  provision  of  a broad  open 
space  before  the  station  and  the  centring  to  it  of 
radial  thoroughfares  — all  this  lending  that  topo- 
graphical importance  which  would  naturally  charac- 
terise the  gateway  of  a city.  So  the  railroad  station 
became,  not  merely  practically,  nor  merely  theo- 
retically, but  to  a large  extent  also  visibly  and  in 
spite  of  structural  distractions,  the  new  land  portal 
to  the  city.  And  as  the  consideration  of  municipal 
art  and  of  what  has  been  called  the  science  of  city- 
building becomes  more  thoughtful,  this  civic  re- 
lation is  better  appreciated  and  is  becoming  better 
recognised  in  the  planning  of  stations  and  streets. 
It  gives  a key  to  the  civic  significance  to  be  ex- 
pressed in  station  and  square. 

The  utilitarian  point  of  view  must,  of  course, 
have  first  thought  in  civic  art,  but  from  a concep- 
tion which  is  all  utilitarian  it  is  no  long  step  to 
the  thought  of  the  importance  of  treating  artistic- 


64 


flDofcern  Civic  Hrt. 


ally  a point  that  is  to  mean  so  much  to  the  city. 
For  as  far  as  the  citizens  are  concerned  the  station 
is  a focal  centre,  and  as  far  as  the  rest  of  the  world 
is  involved  it  is  the  point  from  which  the  first 
serious  impression  of  the  town  is  gained.  It  should 
be,  then,  one  of  the  first  and  most  important  points 
to  be  considered  in  making  a general  plan  for  the 
development  of  the  city  on  thoroughly  modern 
and  rational  lines,  and  for  its  beautifying.  It  is  the 
first  point  that  logically  should  be  thought  of  after 
the  water-front,  if  it  be  proper  to  regard  the  latter 
as  the  natural  entrance.  Nor  will  the  railroad  com- 
pany find  an  addition  to  the  attractiveness  of  its 
station  less  to  its  interest  than  will  the  town.  If 
by  a pleasing  station  and  an  attractive  setting  for  it 
travel  is  apparently  shorn  of  some  of  its  repellent 
discomforts,  the  railroad  company  gains  as  much 
by  the  greater  willingness  of  the  townspeople  to 
travel  as  the  town  gains  by  the  more  urgent  invita- 
tion thus  extended  to  travellers  to  stop  there.  Per- 
haps this  advantage  to  the  railroad  seems  theoretical 
and  problematical,  a bit  too  dependent  on  sentiment 
to  merit  expenditure  by  a “soulless  corporation.” 
If  it  does,  we  should  recall  that  as  yet  a majority 
of  the  cases  of  station  improvement,  as  regards  the 
surroundings  no  less  than  the  station  itself,  have 
owed  their  initiative  to  the  railroad  companies  and 
have  been  mainly  or  wholly  paid  for  by  the  latter. 

The  character  of  the  station,  whether  terminal 
or  way,  should  of  course  determine  the  treatment 


£be  3lant>  approach. 


65 


to  be  adopted  in  its  approaches;  and  the  advantages 
of  attractiveness  in  the  station  and  in  its  setting 
apply  as  certainly,  if  somewhat  less  obviously,  to 
the  course  of  the  road  through  the  town.  Thus  we 
come  to  the  natural  divisions  of  the  definite  dis- 
cussion. 

Let  us  take  up  first  t)ie  character  of  the  station. 
The  common  failure  to  grasp  the  really  civic  signi- 
ficance that  pertains  to  it, — the  failure  to  look  at 
it,  as  civic  art  must,  from  the  standpoint  of  the 
municipality  instead  of  merely  from  that  of  the  rail- 
road which  owns  or  rents  the  structure,— has  led 
to  the  addition  of  a third  type  to  the  two  kinds  of 
construction  that  strictly  railroad  conditions  must 
have  suggested.  There  are  not  only  the  terminal 
and  the  way  station, — the  two  inevitable  and  wholly 
appropriate  types, — but  because  the  roadhouse  and 
inn  theory  still  lingers,  finding  an  excuse  in  some 
practical  convenience,  and  because  the  company’s 
claim  upon  the  structure  even  to  the  decision  of 
its  style  is  held  to  be  paramount  to  that  of  the  com- 
munity, there  is  developed,  as  we  have  seen,  a type 
which  may  be  called  “the  disguised.”  In  this  the 
architect  screens  the  train-shed,  putting  before  it  a 
structure  that  is  sometimes  a hotel,  as  often  in  Great 
Britain,  and  sometimes  an  office  building,  as  often 
in  the  United  States,  and  from  which  all  visible 
significance  as  a portal  has  vanished.  He  doubtless 
does  this  at  the  behest  of  the  company;  but  in  so 
doing  he  not  only  gives  civic  art  cause  to  mourn, 

5 


66 


flDobent  Civic  Bit. 


he  robs  the  station  of  that  importance,  of  that 
appropriate  character,  and  even  of  the  accurate  rail- 
road significance  with  which  frank  treatment  as  the 
city  portal  might  have  stamped  it. 

The  terminal  Gare  du  Nord  in  Paris  as  seen  from 
the  short  street  leading  up  to  it,  the  station  at  Ham- 
burg with  the  turrets  flanking  its  castellated  main 
pavilion,  the  many-portaled  front  of  the  Gare  de 
I’Est  in  Paris,  and  the  station  in  Genoa  with  its 
enclosing  arms  are  striking  examples  of  the  portal 
treatment.  Of  the  suburban,  or  way,  station  con- 
ception, the  new  station  at  Cologne  is  an  example 
on  a large  scale;  the  station  at  One  hundred  and 
twenty-fifth  Street  in  New  York  is  a familiar  illustra- 
tion; and  the  type  may  be  found  in  innumerable 
towns  in  all  countries  — perhaps  in  no  villages  more 
prettily  and  appropriately  than  in  those  suburbs  of 
Boston  where  a series  of  structures  designed  by 
H.  H.  Richardson  are  framed  in  bits  of  landscape 
that  owe  their  arrangement  to  the  genius  of  F.  L. 
Olmsted.  Of  the  “disguised”  type,  the  familiar 
St.  Pancras  in  London  may  stand  for  the  hotel,  and 
the  Philadelphia  stations  of  the  Pennsylvania  and 
Reading  roads  for  the  commercial. 

Upon  the  amount  of  space  available,  the  travel 
offering  or  likely  to  offer,  and  upon  the  character  of 
the  station — as  it  conforms  with  one  or  another  of 
these  types  — must  depend,  if  there  are  to  be  consist- 
ency, harmony,  and  good  sense,  the  treatment  that 
the  city  will  give  to  the  space  before  the  station. 


Gbe  llanb  approach.  67 

And  this  problem,  originating  as  it  does  with  mod- 
ern civic  art,  is  one  which  can  be  taken  up  with  a 
more  hopeful  confidence  of  results  than  that  with 
which  the  choice  of  the  style  of  building  is  consid- 
ered. The  latter  depends  upon  matters  that  are  far 
removed  from  civic  art,  while  the  development  of 
the  station  square  is  essentially  a problem  in  that 
art,  and  a most  interesting  one. 

Turning,  then,  to  the  community’s  own  treat- 
ment of  the  land  entrance,  we  find  that  stations 
always  should,  and  not  uncommonly  do,  front  upon 
open  public  spaces.  They  should  be  thus  situated, 
first, — to  place,  as  ever  in  civic  art,  utilitarian  ad- 
vantages foremost  in  the  discussion, — that  the  large 
and  hurried  travel  of  a busy  centre  may  be  com- 
moded  ; second,  that  the  station,  of  which  the 
importance  to  the  community  can  scarcely  be  ex- 
aggerated, may  have  all  the  topographical  promi- 
nence that  it  deserves,  and  that  the  city  may  thus 
emphasise  and  dignify  the  structural  value  of  it's 
chief  land  portal ; third,  for  the  gain  in  the  city’s 
aesthetic  aspect.  First  impressions  are  notably  virile 
and  lasting,  and  the  stranger  must  form  his  first 
impression  of  the  city  from  the  view  which  meets 
his  eyes  as  he  passes  out  of  the  station  to  enter  the 
town.  A square  will  be  pleasanter  than  a street,  if 
only  for  the  space  it  gives. 

Some  years  ago  the  city  of  Genoa  set  itself  to 
improve  the  area  in  front  of  the  railroad  station. 
There  it  placed,  appropriately,  the  statue  of  Colum- 


68 


flfcobern  Civic  Hrt. 


bus,  and  in  surrounding  this  with  turf  and  flowers  it 
did  so  “in  order,”  as  the  Genovese  authorities  ex- 
pressly declared,  “that  the  first  impression  of  strang- 
ers coming  to  our  city  may  be  favourable.”  The 
like  course  has  been  followed  for  a like  reason, 
though  not  always  so  frankly  confessed,  by  a great 
number  of  towns  and  cities.  Thus  it  is  that  in 
“station  squares”  we  come  upon  a distinct  and  im- 
portant group  of  problems  — of  “portal  square” 
problems— which  it  is  appropriate  to  discuss  apart 
from  other  open  spaces. 

This  square  in  front  of  the  principal  railroad  sta- 
tion in  Genoa  is  an  unusually  well  arranged  exam- 
ple. Architecturally,  the  building  exemplifies  a city 
portal  conception,  and  very  markedly.  Its  walls  are 
turned  in  a concave  around  a corner  of  the  square, 
so  that  they  seem  to  enfold  the  town,  and  over  two 
adjacent  streets  converging  from  beyond  the  station 
are  thrown  conspicuous  gate-like  arches,  joined  to 
the  station  as  if  a part  of  it.  The  station  portal 
which  is  in  the  centre  becomes,  then,  one  of  a series 
of  three  perfectly  apparent  entrances  to  the  town 
that  are  united  in  one  elaborate  triple  gateway. 
Before  the  station  there  is  an  open  space  which  is 
larger  than  needed  for  business,  and  the  municipality 
has  gone  to  work  to  give  to  the  incoming  traveller  a 
pleasant  first  impression.  The  town  is  at  once  indi- 
vidualised and  set  in  its  proper  niche  of  history  by 
the  memorial  to  Columbus,  placed  here  that  it  may 
appropriately  be  the  first  sight  to  greet  the  traveller’s 


£be  Xanb  approach. 


69 


eye.  This  is  a reminder  that,  other  conditions  being 
favourable,  the  square  before  the  station  is  an  ex- 
ceedingly appropriate  place — second  only  to  the  area 
before  the  town  hall  — for  a distinctly  civic  statue. 
With  some  room  still  to  spare  after  erecting  the 
statue,  the  Genovese  authorities  gave  to  it  a park 
setting,  though  the  area  nearest  the  station  was  not 
planted,  that  it  might  be  free  whenever  needed. 
By  this  device,  also,  the  statue  was  set  far  enough 
back  for  good  perspective.  Turf,  shrubs,  and  trees 
were  planted,  that  it  might  have  verdure  for  back- 
ground; and  yet  there  was  retained  a thoroughly 
formal  treatment,  consistently  urban  in  suggestion. 
The  result  is  that  the  arriving  traveller’s  first  impres- 
sion is  of  a city  rich  and  handsome,  while  not  too 
large  for  the  softer  graces  of  vegetation  ; and  of  a 
town  of  the  historical  interest  of  which  he  has  full 
understanding  and  assurance.  The  departing  travel- 
ler, on  the  other  hand,  has  reminder  that  he  is  de- 
liberately leaving  the  delightful  city  when  he  enters 
the  portals  of  its  station,  that  it  is  no  urban  jaunt  he 
is  to  take  for  he  is  passing  through  the  city  gate. 

it  has  seemed  worth  while  to  note  thus,  with 
some  detail,  the  station  square  at  Genoa,  not  merely 
for  its  own  merit  as  an  example  of  a bit  of  distinctly 
modern  civic  art,  but  for  its  suggestiveness  to  in- 
numerable towns  and  cities  of  like  or  smaller  size. 
At  the  extremes,  however,  of  population,  for  cities 
that  are  much  larger  and  for  villages  that  are 
much  smaller,  other  treatment  will  often  be  advisable. 


7o 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


We  may  easily  find  hints.  Mere  room  does  not 
mean  success. 

Hamburg,  which  has  done  much  on  lines  of  civic 
art,  failed  lamentably  in  the  treatment  of  the  space 
before  its  new  station.  The  square  was  of  inviting 
opportunity  in  its  area,  and  the  city  began  well  by 
making  liberal  provision  for  the  travel  which,  con- 
verging at  a station,  was  especially  likely  to  esteem 
time  as  a factor  of  importance.  There  are  broad 
walks  and  a very  wide  expanse  of  pavement,  and 
the  roadways  lead  directly  to  the  door,  and  yet  large 
areas  remained  for  planting.  A good  thing  was  done 
in  providing  amply  for  illumination,  and  the  electric- 
lighting apparatus  is  frankly  decorative.  But  the 
wide  flat  spaces  that  are  given  to  planting  are  grass 
plots  enclosed  by  low  wire  fences,  with  their  mono- 
tony almost  unrelieved,  the  few  flowers,  that 
ought  to  have  been  shrubs,  proving  inadequate  for 
the  broad  area.  There  is,  indeed,  an  effect  of  spa- 
ciousness ; but  the  spaciousness  of  lawn  that  a city 
can  show  in  front  of  its  railroad  station  is  not  very 
impressive  to  those  who  have  just  been  travelling 
through  the  open  country,  and  if  this  effect  be 
ignored  there  is  nothing  left.  The  space  has  no 
character.  Along  with  this  failure  we  may  recite 
the  well-known  and  pitiful  failures  of  New  York 
before  the  “Grand  Central  Station”  and  of  Bos- 
ton before  its  North  and  South  Union  stations. 
The  trouble  in  these  cases  is  that  there  was  not 
even  an  attempt  at  worthier  treatment.  The  arriving 


£be  Ha nt>  approach. 


71 


traveller  in  New  York,  passing  with  gratitude  out  of 
one  tunnel,  gazes  into  another  yawning  cavern  and 
gains  an  impression  wholly  unworthy  of  the  brilliant 
city.  Boston,  which  has  been  a leader  in  the  United 
States  in  many  phases  of  civic  art,  relinquished  to 
the  ugly  elevated  railroad  the  broad  spaces  of  pre- 
cious opportunity  before  its  stations. 

In  great  cities  the  .treatment  of  the  area  in  front 
of  the  station  must  generally  be  strictly  urban.  The 
open  space  exists  at  this  point  first  for  the  facilita- 
tion and  convenience  of  traffic,  and  only  secondarily 
for  jesthetic  purposes.  Except,  therefore,  where  the 
available  area  is  very  large  in  proportion  to  the 
travel  across  it,— and  the  value  of  the  land  rises  ex- 
actly as  the  need  for  the  open  space  increases, — the 
practical  problem  is  rather  that  of  treating  utilities 
artistically  and  of  making  the  aesthetic  best  of  a 
probably  bad  situation  than  of  deliberate  effort  by 
gardening.  In  this  connection  the  space  in  front  of 
the  Gare  de  l’Est  in  Paris  has  suggestion.  It  is  not 
so  much  a square  as  a broadened  bit  of  boulevard 
that  has  been  yet  further  widened  by  converging 
streets.  Trees  have  been  planted,  giving  height  to 
the  flat  area, — an  important  aesthetic  principle,— but 
except  for  this  Paris,  with  all  her  love  of  beauty  and 
fondness  for  display,  has  here  held  herself  strictly  in 
check.  Tram  communication  with  various  parts  of 
the  city  centres  here,  as  it  very  properly  may,  and 
the  transfer-  or  waiting-room  for  the  trams  is 
almost  the  first  edifice  that  the  arriving  traveller 


72 


flDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


sees  when  he  leaves  the  railroad  station.  Without 
permitting  such  barbarity  as  Boston,  Paris  has  here 
made  the  accommodation  of  travel  her  first  consid- 
eration. The  earliest  impression  of  the  stranger  is 
that  of  a populous,  busy  city  — but,  withal,  one  ar- 
ranged with  singular  convenience,  and  one  in  which 
the  abundant  trees  prevent  too  violent  a contrast  in 
the  swift  transition  from  rural  to  urban  scenery. 

Where,  we  may  observe,  there  must  be  this 
contrast,  it  should  be  made  so  marked  that  there 
will  be  no  danger  of  comparison.  The  area  should 
be  so  handsome,  so  superbly  architectural,  as  to  sug- 
gest civic  wealth  and  splendour.  The  Senate  Com- 
mittee on  “A  Plan  for  the  Improvement  of  the 
District  of  Columbia  ” (Washington)  thus  formally 
describes  in  the  preliminary  report  its  scheme  for  the 
new  Union  Station  1 : 

The  plans  call  for  a station  longer  than  the  Capitol,  the 
building  to  be  of  white  marble,  the  facade  to  be  Roman  in  style 
of  architecture.  . . . Facing  the  Capitol,  and  yet  not  too  near 

that  edifice,  the  new  station  will  front  on  a semicircular  plaza, 
six  hundred  feet  in  width,  where  bodies  of  troops  or  large 
organisations  can  be  formed  during  inaugural  times  or  on  other 
like  occasions.  Thus  located  and  constructed,  the  Union  depot 
will  be  in  reality  the  great  and  impressive  gateway  to  Wash- 
ington. 

Again,  of  the  plaza  it  says  : The  proposal  is  that  it 
shall  be 

six  hundred  feet  in  width  by  twelve  hundred  feet  in  length, 
ornamented  with  fitting  terrace,  basins,  and  fountains.  This 


Fifty-seventh  Congress,  first  session.  Senate  Report  No.  1 66. 


ftbe  Xanb  approach. 


73 


great  station  forms  the  grand  gateway  of  the  capital,  through 
which  everyone  who  comes  to  or  goes  from  Washington  must 
pass;  as  there  is  no  railroad  entering  the  city  that  will  not  use 
the  station,  it  becomes  the  vestibule  of  the  capital.  . . . 

The  three  great  architectural  features  of  a Capitol  city  being  the 
halls  of  legislation,  the  executive  buildings,  and  the  vestibule,  it 
is  felt  by  the  railroad  companies  that  the  style  of  this  building 
should  be  equally  as  dignified  as  that  of  the  public  buildings 
themselves.  Therefore  it  is  that  the  design  goes  back  to  pure 
Roman  motives.  , 

The  central  portion  is  derived  directly  from  the  Arch 
of  Constantine,  and  into  subordination  to  this  the 
wings  are  brought,  so  emphasising  the  portal  con- 
ception. 

If  great  cities  can  rarely  make  the  station  square 
a component  of  the  park  system,  smaller  communi- 
ties may,  obviously,  quite  often  develop  it  in  this 
way.  In  fact,  as  one  goes  down  the  scale  of  popula- 
tion, the  point  is  reached  at  last  where  the  railroad 
itself,  by  the  improvement  of  its  ample  station 
grounds,  can  supplement  the  community’s  efforts  to 
give  an  invitingly  park-like  character  to  the  entrance 
to  the  town. 

In  these  smaller  communities  the  station  has 
rarely  the  appearance  of  a terminal,  being  one  neither 
in  fact  nor  aspiration.  Really  a way  station,  it  is 
consistently  treated  as  such;  and  the  edifice,  both  in 
its  architecture  and  its  setting, — which,  as  a bit  of 
landscape  work,  will  not  be  out  of  harmony  with  the 
structure, — follows  the  lines  of  a shelter  or  transfer 
building  in  a park.  Of  this  type  there  are,  as  has 
been  said,  hardly  lovelier  or  more  satisfying  examples 


74 


flDobern  Civic  Hit. 


to  be  found  in  the  United  States  than  in  the  little 
structures  and  station  grounds  on  the  line  of  the  Bos- 
ton and  Albany  Railroad  upon  what  is  called  the  New- 
ton Circuit,  just  out  of  Boston.  Here  well  designed 
stations,  built  of  stone,  and  so  adding  to  their  grace 
suggestions  of  stability  and  permanence,  rise  from 
parks  developed  in  the  natural  style,  to  fit  pleasantly 
into  an  environment  of  nature  as  seen  by  the  traveller 
who  is  hurried  through  wood  and  field.  The  bloom 
of  hardy  perennials  in  masses  of  flowering  shrubs 
here  takes  the  place  of  the  stiff  beds  of  summer 
flowers  seen  in  most  station  grounds  that  pretend  to 
be  improved.  In  groups,  they  wed  the  building  to 
the  grounds,  they  frame  with  waving  lines  the  patches 
of  lawn,  or  hide  the  too-near  corners,  while  the 
changing  foliage,  the  masses  of  many-coloured  stalks 
and  twigs,  and  the  green  of  the  conifers  prolong 
through  all  the  year  that  colour  and  attractiveness 
which  in  carpet  gardening  is  too  often  seized  for  only 
the  brief  weeks  of  summer. 

The  new  station  at  Cologne  offers  architecturally 
an  interesting  example,  because  on  a large  scale,  of 
the  city  development  of  this  way  or  suburban  type 
of  construction.  As  such  it  is  indeed  noteworthy. 
Both  in  itself  and  in  the  approach  to  it  which  the 
municipality  has  arranged,  it  has  suggestion;  for  the 
type  — though  not  as  flattering  to  cities  as  the  term- 
inal, or  even  as  the  disguised  — is  inevitably  common 
with  them.  In  appearance  the  Cologne  station  is 
suggestive  of  an  exposition  building  in  permanent 


Railroad  Station  at  Waban,  Mass.,  on  the  Boston  and  Albany  Railroad.  A suburban  station  in  a parklike  setting. 


I be  Haiti)  approach. 


75 


materials.  It  is  the  immensely  amplified  ornamental 
shelter  of  a park.  Constructively,  the  train-shed’s 
location  parallel  to  the  street  iterates  the  fact  that 
this  is  not  a terminal;  and  though  in  the  direct,  near 
view  this  effect  is  slightly  negatived  by  the  great 
arch  of  the  main  entrance,  still  it  may  be  said  that 
the  impression  on  the  whole  is  that  of  a splendid 
way  station,  rather  than  of  the  meeting  of  town  and 
road  at  a gate.  There  is  a very  long  facade,  as  relat- 
ively there  must  always  be  in  the  way-station  type, 
and  the  city,  in  considering  the  demands  of  the 
traffic,  finds  that  length  instead  of  breadth  can  ac- 
commodate all  that  centres  here.  The  open  space 
before  the  station  is  laid  out,  therefore,  as  a broad 
parallel  street  with  cross  streets  leading  up  to  it  — 
a plan  which  can  generally  be  followed  with  the 
way-station  type  of  structure.  The  spaces  between 
the  cross  streets  — the  corners  rounded  for  the  con- 
venience of  the  travel  — are  set  out  as  grass  plots, 
adorned  with  shrubs  and  flowers,  and  so  making  a 
pleasant  introductory  to  the  town.  Just  inside  these 
enclosures,  where  their  suitably  flaring  bases  make 
no  trespass  on  the  pavement,  are  placed  the  ornate 
electric-light  poles.  The  whole  arrangement  is  well 
fitted  to  the  given  conditions. 

But  it  is  proper  to  ask  how  the  conditions  might 
have  been  improved.  The  tracks  entering  the  station 
at  Cologne  are  elevated,  so  that  the  natural  place  for 
the  main  floor  would  be  above  the  level  of  the  street. 
The  architects  to  solve  their  difficulty  adopted  the 


76 


flDo&ern  Civic  Hrt. 


high-basement  plan  of  fa9ade.  Instead  of  doing 
this,  the  station  might  have  been  built  at  the  track 
level,  and  the  space  before  it  have  been  terraced. 
This  arrangement  is  one  that  may  be  often  and 
happily  adopted,  now  that  the  abolition  of  grade 
crossings  is  so  widely  demanded,  and  it  need  not  in- 
convenience the  travel.  The  carriage  approach  can 
be  lifted  by  grade  to  the  level  of  the  main  floor;  and 
if  the  van  approach,  with  unchanged  level,  be  carried 
under  the  terrace  to  the  real,  though  concealed,  base- 
ment, there  will  be  a considerable  gain  from  various 
points  of  view.  To  this  lower  approach,  also,  the 
city  surface  cars  might  come.  The  arrangement  re- 
lieves the  area  before  the  building,  and  adds  to  the 
comfort  of  travellers  in  enabling  them  to  change  from 
steam  to  urban  transit  without  leaving  the  building. 
As  to  civic  aesthetics,  the  joint  dignity  of  town  and 
station  at  this  meeting-place — not  a little  endangered 
by  the  “glorified  shelter”  conception — can  thus  be 
fully  assured,  for  in  terraces  there  is  conspicuous- 
ness, and  urban  art  has  rich  opportunity.  The  sta- 
tion at  Providence,  Rhode  Island,  illustrates  such 
a site. 

But  before  the  arriving  traveller  has  emerged  from 
the  station  he  has  generally  gained  some  sort  of  an 
impression  of  the  town.  If  his  views  of  it  have  been 
as  “snapshots,”  they  have  been  serial;  and  if  the 
opportunity  for  deliberate  judgment  has  been  lack- 
ing, a prepossession  at  least  has  been  gained.  The 
railroad  must  enter  the  town  in  one  of  three  ways, 


£be  Xatib  approach. 


77 


or  in  combinations  of  them,  it  must  enter  on  the 
level,  or  on  an  embankment  crossing  the  streets  by 
an  elevated  structure,  or  in  a cutting.  The  last  way 
is  comparatively  rare,  being  costliest,  and  either  of 
the  others  offers  a general  survey.  But  the  view 
is  not  flattering.  Building  sites  are  chosen  in  prox- 
imity to  the  railroad  only  out  of  necessity  — for  the 
facilitation  of  business,  as  in  the  case  of  warehouses 
or  other  large  receiving  or  shipping  establishments, 
or  because  the  land  not  needed  for  these  purposes  is 
cheap.  Manufacturing  plants  and  warehouses  are 
seldom  beautiful,  and  on  the  cheapest  land  the  cheap- 
est residences  are  built,  while  in  any  case  the  smoke 
and  dirt  of  the  railroad  would  tend  quickly  to  blacken 
all  structures  within  their  reach.  So  it  happens  that 
the  city  turns  its  most  forlorn  side  to  the  railroad, 
edging  the  route  with  the  dingy  and  prosaic. 

To  do  something  toward  ameliorating  this  con- 
dition, which  can  give  no  pleasure  to  the  traveller,  is 
within  the  power  of  the  railroad  corporation.  There 
may  be  planting  along  the  borders  for  long  distances, 
and  mere  neatness  will  do  much.  The  result  is  as 
well  worth  effort  as  the  improvement  of  the  station 
grounds,  and  certainly  it  means  so  much  to  the  town 
that  the  latter  should  require  the  railroad,  as  a con- 
dition of  its  entrance,  to  keep  in  order  and  sightliness 
the  whole  of  its  right  of  way  within  the  city  limits. 

It  need  hardly  be  stated  here  that  there  ought  to 
be  no  grade  crossings.  They  are  characteristic  not 
of  the  modern  city,  but  of  a transition  stage  out  of 


7« 


flfrobern  Civic  Art. 


which  the  modern  city — which,  if  we  have  not  built, 
we  can  at  least  foresee  — is  developing.  It  were 
far  better  and  cheaper,  both  for  the  railroad  com- 
pany and  for  the  town,  that  the  need  of  abolish- 
ing the  grade  crossing  were  recognised  at  the  start, 
as  law  is  now  more  and  more  insisting  that  it  shall 
be.  Once  recognised,  there  would  be  laid  down  in 
advance  a complete  and  definite  plan.  The  railroads 
would  enter  on  the  line  that  offered  fewest  engineer- 
ing difficulties  to  the  avoidance  of  grade  crossings; 
they  would  have  a union  station,  conveniently  situ- 
ated, suitably  approached  by  converging  streets,  and 
with  before  it  an  ample  area  that  could  be  appropri- 
ately developed.  So  the  land  entrance  to  the  town 
would  be,  as  a whole,  pleasing,  impressive,  and  dig- 
nified, and  at  the  station  the  architect  scarcely  could 
fail  to  recognise  and  express  its  real  significance. 

In  the  matter  of  elevated  construction  along  the 
permanent  right  of  way,  there  would  be  insistence  on 
something  more  than  that  the  embankment  be  turf- 
covered,  or  the  retaining  walls  handsomely  faced. 
There  might  be  some  gardening  on  the  banks,  with 
well  placed  shrubs  where  opportunity  offers — even 
that  can  now  be  occasionally  seen;  and  there  should 
certainly  be  a demand  that  so  important  a struct- 
ure as  the  bridge  by  which  the  railroad  crosses  a 
thoroughfare  be  designed  on  artistic  lines.  These 
bridges  which  the  railroad  is  permitted  to  throw 
across  the  streets  close  the  vistas  of  the  streets  and 
have  such  civic  prominence  as  few  structures  in  the 


$be  Xattb  approach. 


79 


town  possess.  It  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that 
they  be  not  hideous,  and  there  is  no  reason  why 
they  should  be.  Yet  where  is  the  town  or  city  that 
has  made  serious  protest  against  the  ugliness  of  the 
bridges  that  the  railroad  has  hung  so  conspicuously 
over  its  streets  ? 

Thus  the  problem  of  the  land  entrance  to  a town 
spreads  out  into  problems  of  approach  as  well  as 
of  terminal.  And  because  there  must  be  considered 
the  prospect  from  both  road  and  town,  because  it 
is  impossible  that  there  should  be  any  unsought 
natural  beauty  about  this  entrance,  and  because  again 
the  whole  reason  for  the  construction  is  utilitarian 
and  profit-making,  to  the  end  that  it  is  vain  to 
depend  unreservedly  on  aesthetic  impulse,  there 
arises  many  a perplexity  and  embarrassment.  The 
purely  ideal  can  hardly  be  expected.  But  it  is  clear 
that  certain  good  things  that  make  for  modern  civic 
art  can  reasonably  be  looked  for. 

It  will  be  to  the  advantage  of  the  railroad  as  well 
as  of  the  town  to  have  a worthy  entrance;  but  it  re- 
mains for  the  town  to  insist  upon  this.  If  in  its  first 
plotting  there  are  laid  down  the  lines  and  propor- 
tions of  the  local  main  street,  how  much  more  appro- 
priately now  may  there  be  determined  the  best  lines 
for  the  through  travel,  the  course  and  station  of  the 
railroad  that  is  to  build  up  the  town  and  to  give 
to  the  world  its  view  of  the  town!  If  in  the  com- 
munity’s growth  the  water  entrance  be  developed  by 
the  municipality,  is  there  less  reason  that  it  should 


8o 


flDobern  Civic  Art. 


provide  for  the  busy  inland  entrance  approaches 
that  shall  be  dignified,  worthy,  and  convenient  ? If 
in  constructing  the  bridges  that  carry  its  own  streets 
the  municipality  exercises  artistic  care,  shall  it  be 
negligent  in  the  matter  of  the  bridges  that,  crossing 
its  streets,  present  lateral  views  so  striking  and  far 
visible  ? If  it  constructs  parkways,  demands  well 
kept  streets,  and  requires  its  citizens  to  preserve  the 
orderliness  of  their  gardens,  shall  it  fail  to  enjoin  less 
care  on  that  permanent  right  of  way  on  which  the 
railroad  is  permitted  to  bisect  the  town  and  from 
which  the  travelling  public  gains  its  view  of  the  com- 
munity ? Civic  art  must  surely  rise  to  recognition 
of  the  importance  and  true  significance  of  the  modern 
railroad  route  and  station  as  the  land  entrance  of 
the  modern  town;  and,  recognising  it,  there  must 
be  demand  for  a treatment  that  shall  be  worthy 
because  at  once  sensible,  appropriate,  and  artistic.  It 
should  be  the  worthy  portal  of  a worthy  city,  and 
for  this  end  the  community  and  railroad  must  work 
together. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  ADMINISTRATIVE  CENTRE. 

CE  an  artist  choosing  the  central  figures  of  his 
group  before  he  begins  the  composition,  or 
as  a landscape  designer  notes  the  dominant 
natural  features  of  the  given  site  before  drawing  his 
plans,  we,  in  the  study  and  practice  of  modern  civic 
art,  must  pass  from  the  portals  of  the  city,  from  the 
entrances  by  water  and  by  land,  to  the  administrative 
centre  of  the  town.  This  is  the  point  that  should  nat- 
urally demand  our  next  attention,  for  this  should 
be  the  heart  of  the  town.  Its  municipal  life  should 
be  centred  here,  and  it  should  be  a distinct  and 
definite  point. 

To  the  buildings  of  the  government,  which 
would  go  to  constitute  the  architectural  elements  of 
an  administrative  centre,  there  ought  to  be  given 
not  merely  a central  location,  which  will  be  invited 
by  considerations  of  convenience  even  more  strongly 
than  by  those  of  sentiment,  but  all  the  additional  em- 
phasis and  conspicuousness  that  site  can  offer.  No 


82 


flDoberit  Civic  art. 


other  structures  are  so  appropriately  entitled  to  the 
best  position  that  the  town  can  afford,  convenience 
and  appearance  being  jointly  considered,  as  are  those 
that  officially  stand  for  the  town.  And  this  being 
true  of  the  leading  public  buildings,  they  are  gregar- 
ious. They  belong  in  about  the  same  location,  the- 
oretically, without  regard  to  (because  above)  the 
temporary  matter  of  land  values  and  the  claims  of 
individual  real-estate  interests.  And  not  only  do 
these  structures  belong  together,  but  each  gains 
from  the  proximity  of  the  others.  There  is,  for 
example,  a utilitarian  gain,  in  the  concentration  of  the 
public  business  and  the  consequent  saving  of  time; 
and  there  is  a civic  gain,  in  the  added  dignity  and 
importance  which  the  buildings  seem  to  possess. 
Collectively,  they  appear  to  make  the  city  more 
prideworthy;  they  suggest  the  co-operation  of 
departments  rather  than  that  individual  sufficiency 
which  separate  buildings  recommend  and  which  is 
at  the  root  of  so  much  administrative  evil;  they  make 
the  municipality,  in  this  representation  of  the  mighti- 
ness of  its  total  business,  seem  a more  majestic  thing 
and  one  better  worth  the  devotion  and  service  of  its 
citizens.  They  make  it  seem  better  worth  living  for 
and  working  for,  as  of  larger  possibilities  for  good, 
than  could  the  same  buildings  when  scattered  about 
the  town  and  lost  in  a wilderness  of  commercial 
structures. 

It  scarcely  needs  to  be  said,  further,  that  a group- 
ing of  these  buildings  may  be  as  advantageous  a?sthe- 


Six'  Hbministrative  Centre. 


83 


tically,  for  all  of  them  and  tor  each  of  them,  as  it  is  in 
a civic  sense  and  utilitarian  sense,  and  as  from  those 
points  of  view  it  would  seem  to  be  natural.  A prom- 
inent architect,  in  discussing  this  matter  at  a national 
gathering  of  his  profession,  has  maintained  that 
“ isolated  buildings  of  whatever  individual  merit  are 
insignificant  in  comparison  to  massed  constructions, 
even  if  these  latter  be  comparatively  mediocre  in 
quality.”  This  is  a very  strong  claim,  but  even  if  it 
be  pared  down — as  the  architects  did  not  require  that 
it  should  be— there  remains  enough  of  undoubted 
truth  powerfully  to  endorse  on  aesthetic  grounds  the 
grouping  of  the  public  structures.  Granting  this, 
consider  what  a waste  of  opportunity  there  is  in  the 
erection  of  monumental  buildings  for  a city — what- 
ever the  landlord  represented  by  each  — that  are  so 
separated  as  to  make  it  impossible  to  see  them 
together.  Probably  without  additional  expense, 
certainly  without  addition  proportioned  to  the  re- 
sulting gain,  they  might  be  put  together,  and  to 
every  building  there  might  thus  be  given  some- 
thing of  majesty  by  its  mere  setting  among  its 
neighbours.  So  there  would  always  be  created,  if 
natural  laws  were  followed,  a civic,  or  administrative, 
centre  in  each  town. 

But  the  buildings  represent  various  landlords  — 
national,  state,  county,  and  urban — and  even  those 
that  are  municipal  represent  various  sections  of 
the  city  government  — executive,  legislative,  educa- 
tional, or  judicial  — that  usually  are  too  independent 


84 


flfeobern  Civic  art. 


of  one  another  to  pool  their  interests  in  choosing 
sites.  So  it  has  repeatedly  happened  that  the  post- 
office  has  been  erected  in  one  place,  the  court-house 
in  another,  the  city  hall  in  a third,  and  the  public 
library  and  high  school  in  yet  others,  even  when  — 
as  in  the  typical  New  England  village  — there  is 
reserved  a public  area  unbuilt  upon  in  the  heart  of 
the  town  (the  “green  ” or  “ common  ”),  upon  which 
the  official  structures  would  most  appropriately  face. 
To  be  sure,  in  the  old  towns  of  New  England  the 
earliest  church  was  erected  here;  but  that  circum- 
stance merely  testifies  to  the  appropriateness  of 
the  site,  for  there  was  no  real  grouping  of  public 
buildings. 

The  objection  may  be  made  that  the  vicinity  of 
the  city  buildings  would  be  a poor  place  for  a school, 
or  even  for  the  library.  A good  deal  depends  on  the 
character  of  the  officials.  With  politics  at  low  ebb 
morally  and  intellectually,  the  city  hall  may  not  be 
the  most  desirable  of  neighbours.  In  Birmingham, 
on  the  other  hand,  where  politics  have  been  on  a 
higher  plane  than  in  most  American  cities,  the  art 
gallery  and  the  council  chamber  were  long  under 
one  roof,  with  the  town  hall  across  the  street  on 
one  side  and  the  new  art  school  across  the  street 
on  the  other.  Even  the  new  gallery  is  separated  by 
no  more  than  a street’s  width  from  the  council 
chamber.  But  speaking  generally,  we  may  say  that 
the  educational  structures  can  be  fittingly  separated 
from  the  executive  and  legislative  and  from  the 


&be  Hbmimstrative  Centre. 


85 


judicial,  for  in  these  days  cities  have  grown  too 
large  to  crowd  into  a single  space  quite  all  that  is 
important.  In  the  physiology  of  cities  it  is  not  ac- 
curate to-day  to  speak  of  “the  heart”  of  the  town; 
but,  rather,  of  a series  of  nerve  centres.  Thus  it 
is  possible  to  have,  with  no  contradiction  of  terms, 
more  than  a single  centre.  There  may  be,  for  in- 
stance, an  administrative  centre  and  an  educational 
centre,  just  as  we  have  already  found  collecting  and 
distributing  centres  — all  of  them  focal  points  of  the 
town  — at  the  water  gate  and  the  land  entrance.  A 
peculiarity,  it  may  be  noted,  of  the  beautiful  street 
plans  of  Washington  and  Paris  is  their  topographical 
provision  for  a great  number  of  such  nerve  centres. 

It  is  possible  and  convenient  to  discuss  under  a 
single  head  the  administrative  and  educational  foci, 
because  they  are  alike  in  being,  in  each  case,  a group 
of  public  buildings.  The  same  laws  bring  the  struct- 
ures together,  the  same  principles  of  civic  art  com- 
mend their  concentration  and  suggest  the  governing 
of  it.  Alike,  they  are  architectural  aggregations,  pro- 
bably, before  in  practice  they  are  topographical  foci, 
and  the  arrangement  of  the  streets  that  lead  to  them, 
or  of  the  streets  or  squares  upon  which  they  front, 
— all  the  generous  provision  for  a large  circulatory 
requirement,  — will  be  determined  by  the  location 
of  the  structures,  instead  of  itself  determining  this. 
Here,  then,  is  one  of  the  few  points  in  city-building 
where  the  topographical  procedure  may  be  perfectly 
rational,  a result  of  forethought  rather  than  of 


86 


flDoberrt  Civic  art. 


chance  — even,  if  necessary,  to  the  rebuilding  of 
that  portion  of  the  town.  As  the  public’s  interest  is 
greater  than  the  interest  of  any  individual  or  set  of 
individuals,  the  ideal  alone  should  be  considered  in 
the  placing  of  the  public  buildings.  Let  us  consider 
what  the  ideal  placing  would  be. 

Most  of  the  structures  of  a city  are  arranged  in 
rows,  fronting  on  the  streets.  This  is  an  extremely 
undesirable  arrangement  for  public  buildings.  Need- 
less to  say,  they  might  form  a very  stately  series; 
and  there  are  a host  of  examples  — notably  the 
handsome  row  of  public  structures  on  the  Ring- 
strasse  of  Vienna  — that  could  be  named  to  endorse 
such  a location.  But  Vienna’s  Ringstrasse  is  to  be 
counted  out  for  the  present,  and  of  the  other  cases 
in  which  public  buildings  are  collected  into  a group 
arranged  along  the  side  of  a street,  it  may  be 
doubted  whether  there  is  a single  one  in  which  the 
effect  would  not  have  been  better  with  some  other 
disposition.  The  main  objections  to  location  on  a 
street,  even  assuming  that  there  be  no  commercial 
interruption  of  the  series,  are:  (i)  the  endangering 
of  what  is  called  the  scale  of  the  buildings;  (2)  the 
lack  of  opportunity  for  perspective  owing  to  the  nar- 
rowness of  the  street;  (3)  the  loss  of  apparent  re- 
lative importance. 

If  the  side  of  the  street  opposite  to  the  public 
buildings  be  not  built  upon, — if  it  be  a park  or  other 
reservation, — the  buildings,  as  far  as  civic  art  is  con- 
cerned, face  not  on  a street  but  on  the  reservation. 


£be  Administrative  Centre.  87 

which  is  quite  another  matter.  If  the  street  be  built 
up  on  the  opposite  side,  private  ownership  of  that 
land  puts  in  jeopardy  the  beauty  and  dignity  of  the 
public  structures  through  the  possibility  of  mingling 
inharmonious  architecture,  of  making  a squalid  and 
unworthy  outlook,  or  of  destroying  scale  by  the 
erection  of  a “sky-scraper,”  or  any  colossal  build- 
ing, that  would  dwarf  the  public  structures.  The 
danger  that  threatens  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
street  threatens  also  at  either  end  of  it,  except  that 
there  the  possibly  unworthy  outlook  becomes  an 
unfortunate  approach.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  both 
sides  of  the  street  be  reserved  for  the  public  build- 
ings, so  that  they  face  each  other  in  two  series, 
the  space  between  becomes  simply  a court.  This, 
clearly,  would  serve  the  buildings  better  if  it  were 
wider  than  a street  and  were  not  open  to  all  kinds 
of  traffic— if,  in  other  words,  it  were  really  a court 
and  not  a street. 

The  narrowness  of  a street,  again,  is  a serious 
matter  because  of  its  denial  of  opportunity  for  per- 
spective, the  public  buildings  being  deliberately 
monumental.  The  architect  should  not  be  discour- 
aged by  a thought  that  the  beholder  of  his  work  for 
the  municipality  can  get  no  more  than  eighty  or  a 
hundred  feet  from  the  base  lines.  Such  discourage- 
ment would  be  a sad  thing  for  the  city;  and  if  there 
were  no  disheartenment,  and  lovely  buildings  were 
still  erected,  their  beauty  would  be  well-nigh  wasted 
by  the  necessity  of  having  to  look  straight  up  their 


88 


flDobent  Civic  Hrt. 


walls  to  see  them.  In  the  case  of  Vienna’s  Ring- 
strasse,  the  street  is  extremely  broad  — so  broad  as 
to  become  at  any  point,  with  its  trees  and  turf  and 
“parking,”  a little  park;  while  its  great  width  is 
further  enhanced  by  the  curve  of  the  street,  that 
renders  possible  long  and  changing  oblique  views  of 
the  fafades.  That  is  why  the  majestic  Ringstrasse 
is  not  to  be  taken  as  an  example  of  the  normal 
street.  It  is  hardly  fair  to  call  it  a street  at  all,  for  it 
is  more  like  a long,  curved  plaza.  Finally,  if  the 
public  buildings  be  crowded  along  the  edge  of  a 
street,  what  is  there  to  distinguish  them  from  the 
other  structures  of  the  town,  to  give  them  character, 
prestige,  and  the  surpassing  dignity  and  conspicu- 
ousness that  should  be  theirs  ? To  set  them  back 
from  a street  elsewhere  built  up  closely  would  be 
even  to  conceal  them  further.  For  all  these  reasons 
together  the  street  is  the  least  satisfactory  location 
for  the  public  buildings  of  a community,  a fact  that 
is  even  emphasised  by  the  circumstance  that  it  is  the 
usual  position  for  buildings  of  other  kinds. 

Location  on  the  water-front  is  in  many  cases  to 
be  strongly  urged.  It  will  frequently  happen  that 
this  is  not  a geographically  central  location,  as  when 
the  water  forms  the  boundary  of  the  town.  But 
even  when  that  is  the  case  — and  often,  on  the 
contrary,  a bisecting  stream  will  fix  the  town’s  geo- 
graphical centre  more  surely  than  could  an  arbi- 
trarily chosen  site  — the  water-frontage  is  likely  to 
be,  nevertheless,  extremely  centra!  in  a commercial 


Railroad  Station  at  Wellesley  Farms,  Mass.,  on  the  Boston  and  Albany  Railroad. 


1 


£be  administrative  Centre.  89 

sense,  the  population  and  business  of  the  com- 
munity crowding  close  upon  it.  If  such  a site  be, 
in  fact,  sufficiently  central  to  satisfy  the  convenience 
of  the  community,  there  is  much  to  commend  its 
selection  for  the  location  of  the  public  buildings. 

The  advantages  are  double,  as  they  should  be, 
— the  site  benefiting  the  appearance  of  the  city  as  a 
whole  and  the  aspect  of  the  public  buildings  con- 
sidered by  themselves.  As  far  as  the  city  is  con- 
cerned, the  grouping  of  the  public  buildings  along 
the  water-front  offers  an  opportunity  for  that  har- 
mony of  water-front  treatment,  that  visible  perman- 
ence of  construction,  that  stateliness  of  architectural 
facing,  that  may  mean  so  much  to  the  town  in  the 
water  view.  As  far  as  the  buildings  themselves  are 
concerned,  the  water  outlook  is  something  more 
than  pleasing.  It  safeguards  them  from  the  inter- 
ference of  private  construction;  and  it  invites  care- 
fully treated  approaches  with  an  irresistibility  which 
makes  them  unquestionably  fitting.  The  very  rise 
of  the  bank,  with  its  suggestion  of  terraces  or  sloping 
ascents,  adds  to  the  dignity  and  seeming  importance 
of  the  buildings. 

From  a picturesque  standpoint  the  site  is,  then, 
an  entirely  favourable  one.  A drawback  is  that 
the  government  buildings  — excepting  a possible 
custom-house — have  little  essential  connection  with 
the  water.  Utility  does  not  demand  their  location 
along  its  edge,  as  it  does  demand  the  location  of 
many  other  kinds  of  structures,  and  for  this  reason 


9° 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


the  municipality  is  likely  to  need  its  water-front 
space  for  other  purposes,  if  the  body  of  water  has 
commercial  or  industrial  value.  But  even  in  those 
cases  there  is  to  be  urged  the  setting  aside  of 
some  area  for  enjoyment,  and  upon  this  public 
reservation  if  it  be  large  enough,  or  at  least  to  front 
upon  it,  the  municipal  buildings  might  often  be 
arranged  with  advantage.  So  would  be  served  a 
twofold  purpose.  The  public  buildings  would  face 
upon  the  water-front,  and  a portion  of  the  water- 
front would  be  preserved  for  public  enjoyment.  The 
artistic  treatment  given  to  the  plot  would  constitute 
a beautifying  of  the  buildings’  approach  or  site  at 
the  moment  that  it  was  also  park  development. 

With  scarcely  less  certainty  than  the  possession 
of  a water-front,  most  communities  have  an  emin- 
ence. If  it  does  not  command  the  whole  town,  it 
yet  commands  a considerable  area,  so  that  whatever 
structure  is  reared  upon  it  possesses  a conspicuous- 
ness above  that  of  the  town’s  other  buildings. 
Various  considerations  urge  the  reservation  of  this 
site  for  a public  pleasure  ground.  The  urgency  of 
the  considerations  grows  as  the  height  of  the  emin- 
ence increases,  for  a far  view  is  a precious  pos- 
session; but  when  the  height  is  not  very  great,  when 
the  ascent  is  neither  so  long  nor  so  steep  as  to  inter- 
fere seriously  with  traffic,  and  when  the  summit,  if 
centrally  located,  is  given  over  to  building, — as  it  is 
likely  to  be  under  this  combination  of  conditions, — 
then  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  more  fitting  ten- 


$be  administrative  Centre,  91 

ants  than  the  structures  that  house  the  government 
of  the  city. 

There  they  would  visibly  dominate  the  town.  To 
them  the  community  would  look  up,  seeing  them 
lording  over  it  at  every  turn,  as,  in  fact,  the  govern- 
ment ought  to  do.  The  buildings  would  appear,  to 
that  extent,  as  a free  people’s  appropriate  creation  in 
succession  of  the  castle  of  the  feudal  lords.  And, 
apart  from  this  sentiment,  the  height  of  the  location 
would  emphasise  the  relative  importance  of  the 
buildings,  without  making  too  great  a demand  upon 
the  architect  or  involving  too  high  a cost  for  con- 
struction. They  would  gain  in  seeming  importance 
and  in  dignity,  merely  because  of  their  situation; 
and  here  once  more  there  would  be  invitation  for 
those  balustrades  and  terraces  that  may  do  so  much 
to  place  a building  to  advantage.  In  the  distant 
view  of  the  city  the  buildings  of  its  government 
would  be,  fittingly,  the  first  and  most  striking  objects 
of  the  scene.  The  Capitol  at  Washington  suggests 
itself  immediately  as  a familiar  example.  Of  its  loca- 
tion, an  English  critic,  Frederic  Harrison,  has  lately 
declared: 

I have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  the  site  of  the  Capitol  is 
the  noblest  in  the  world,  if  we  exclude  that  of  the  Parthenon  in 
its  pristine  glory.  . . . Londoners  can  imagine  the  effect 
if  their  St.  Paul’s  stood  in  an  open  park,  reaching  from  the 
Temple  to  Finsbury  Circus,  and  the  great  creation  of  Wren 
were  dazzling  white  marble,  and  soared  into  an  atmosphere  of 
sunny  light. 

As  to  the  advantages  that  grade  itself  offers  to 


92 


®ot>ent  Civic  art 


buildings,  the  “ Papers  Relating  to  the  Improvement 
of  the  City  of  Washington  ” 1 contain  these  very  im- 
portant reflections: 

Abrupt  changes  of  grade  are  not  obstacles,  but  opportuni- 
ties. We  have  been  abundantly  satisfied  if  our  buildings  were 
planted,  not  set;  that  is,  if  the  surface  were  levelled  for  them  and 
they  had  no  apparent  connection  with  the  ground  on  which 
they  were  placed.  . . . There  is  nothing  more  attractive 

than  walls,  steps,  terraces,  balustrades,  and  buttresses,  which  are 
integral  parts  of  most  (public)  buildings  abroad,  and  which, 
when  the  natural  grades  have  not  given  excuse  for  their  exist- 
ence, have  been  deliberately  created  as  necessary  setting  to  the 
buildings. 

The  monumental  treatment  of  grade  may,  then, 
very  greatly  enhance  the  imposing  effect  of  a build- 
ing. As  the  paper  continues,  this  work  is  of  im- 
mense variety: 

It  can  be  made  to  soften  too  great  austerity  of  design  and 
to  dignify  too  great  license.  In  many  cases  the  approaches  to  a 
simple,  inexpensive  structure  exalt  it  above  a pretentious  but 
undeveloped  neighbour,  and  in  any  scheme  for  the  embellish- 
ment of  a city,  too  much  stress  cannot  be  laid  on  these  important 
accessories  to  the  higher  architectural  achievements. 

Finally,  and  more  prosaically,  the  very  site  safe- 
guards the  public  buildings  from  the  intrusive  elbow- 
ing of  private  structures  that  might  dwarf  them, 
that  might  screen  them  from  view,  or  might  shut 
out  their  light.  As  was  assumed  at  the  beginning 
of  this  chapter,  no  site  can  be  too  good  for  the  struct- 
ures that  officially  represent  the  town.  Here  again, 

1 Senate  Document  94,  Fifty-sixth  Congress,  second  session.  Paper  by  C. 
Howard  Walker. 


£be  Hbministrative  Centre. 


93 


as  on  the  water-front,  if  it  be  impossible  to  secure 
some  of  this  advantageous  situation  to  public  enjoy- 
ment by  means  of  a park,  the  end  may  be  indirectly 
gained  by  dedicating  it  to  the  public  buildings. 

But  many  communities,  having  neither  a suitable 
eminence  nor  an  available  bit  of  water-front  on  which 
to  locate  their  public  structures,  are  compelled  to 
make  choice  along  the  existing  ways — be  they  the 
streets,  parks,  or  squares  — of  the  city.  This,  be- 
cause the  question  has  been  long  neglected  so  that 
the  best  natural  sites  are  pre-empted,  is  the  common 
problem;  and  when  it  does  arise,  it  is  taken  up  too 
often  with  no  courageousness  of  spirit  or  comprehens- 
iveness of  plan.  Then  there  is  secured  no  grouping 
of  the  buildings;  but,  one  by  one,  as  necessity  occurs, 
the  question  of  situating  single  public  structures  is 
dealt  with  half-heartedly  — at  how  great  a loss  to 
the  total  impressiveness,  beauty,  and  majesty  of  the 
city!  Even,  however,  amid  these  discouraging  con- 
ditions, it  is  possible  to  find  a rule  that  will  help  im- 
mensely in  obtaining  results  which,  though  far  from 
the  ideal,  are  yet  comparatively  favourable  for  build- 
ing and  for  town. 

We  have  said  that  the  street,  using  the  term  in 
its  ordinary  sense,  is  the  least  satisfactory  location 
for  the  public  structures.  The  reproach  may  be 
modified  and  an  exception  made,  when  a site  is 
chosen  that  puts  the  building  at  the  axes  of  im- 
portant thoroughfares.  From  the  standpoint  of  the 
town,  the  building  then  suitably  closes  street  vistas; 


94 


flfrobern  Civic  Hrt. 


and  from  the  building’s  standpoint,  it  may  then  be  seen 
in  perspective  and  has  as  great  a conspicuousness  as 
a relatively  built-in  site  can  give.  The  location,  if 
not  equal  to  the  water-front  or  an  eminence,  is,  all 
things  considered,  fairly  good.  In  the  original  street 
plan  of  Washington  much  stress  was  laid  upon  the 
axial  position  of  governmental  structures.  In  Paris 
there  is  given  to  such  monumental  constructions  as 
the  Opera  House,  the  Arch  of  the  Star,  the  Made- 
leine, and  the  Hotel  des  Invalides  axial  treatment  by 
causing  a convergence  of  streets  to  them  and  by 
making  their  location  complementary  to  similarly 
massive  construction  at  the  vista’s  other  end.  In 
the  new  street  planning  of  London,  Washington, 
and  countless  other  cities,  this  axial  position  for 
important  buildings  is  again  endorsed,  both  for  the 
building’s  sake  and  for  the  street’s.  It  not  only 
terminates  with  a satisfactory  mass  the  street  vistas 
that  were  only  wearisome  if  not  thus  closed,  but  it 
prevents  the  buildings  of  special  prominence  and 
size  from  destroying  the  scale  of  ordinary  structures 
or  from  thrusting  themselves  too  intrusively  upon 
the  street. 

To  recapitulate,  then,  the  government  buildings 
should  be  grouped.  That  is,  there  ought  to  be  a 
civic  centre.  If  grouped,  they  should  not  be  strung 
along  a street.  The  street  position  is  on  the  axis 
at  a focal  point.  When  grouped,  they  belong  at  the 
edge  of  squares  or  plazas;  or,  best  of  all,  if  the  site 
be  sufficiently  central,  on  an  eminence  or  upon  the 


She  administrative  Centre. 


95 


water-front.  If  the  public  structures  be  educational 
institutions,  the  water-front  might  well  prove  unduly 
distracting.  The  ideal  neighbour  of  an  educational 
centre  is  a public  reservation  suitable  for  the  play  of 
little  children,  and  inviting,  by  its  quiet  and  leisure, 
the  reflection  and  study  of  adults. 

But  the  requirements  of  civic  art  in  the  grouping 
of  the  public  buildings  are  not  exhausted  by  these 
considerations.  We  have  noted  only  the  relations 
of  the  buildings  to  the  town  as  a whole.  They  have 
relations  to  one  another.  A number  of  these  are 
comprised  in  what  the  architect  calls  scale  — the 
adoption  of  a certain  module  to  which  all  the  build- 
ings must  strictly  adhere,  as  they  can  with  no  loss 
of  individuality.  If  they  so  adhere  that  no  building 
clashes  with  its  neighbour,  we  may  hope  to  attain 
that  beauty  of  harmony  and  repose  of  which  so 
many  non-professional  persons  gained  a new  con- 
crete conception  in  the  “Court  of  Honour”  at  the 
Chicago  Fair.  If  they  do  not  adhere  to  it,  the 
grouping  will  prove  of  doubtful  aesthetic  value. 

Oftentimes  it  will  be  possible,  also,  to  emphasise 
the  group  plan,  or  to  appear  to  group  existing  build- 
ings that  are  really  somewhat  scattered,  by  joining 
them  by  means  of  arcades  or  colonnades  or  — if 
they  be  too  far  apart  for  that  — by  formal  avenues 
of  trees,  with  balustrades  and  sculpture.  This  is  a 
course  that  may  do  much  for  civic  art,  not  only  in 
the  end  to  which  it  leads  but  by  the  means  it  uses  to 
reach  that  end. 


96 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


Of  the  relations  of  the  now  really  or  apparently 
grouped  buildings  to  the  structures  near  them, 
something  has  been  already  said.  Here  require- 
ments of  scale  are  hardly  less  pressing  than  in  the 
group  itself.  In  European  cities  building  regulations 
which  determine  not  merely  the  height  of  the  struct- 
ures, but  of  the  cornice  line,  are  so  common  that 
the  matter  of  scale  can  be  easily  governed.  In  Amer- 
ica, however,  there  is  danger.  Boston  imposed  a 
special  restriction  as  to  height  upon  structures  erected 
on  Copley  Square,  with  a view  to  safeguarding  the 
beautiful  buildings  of  a public  character  that  had 
gathered  there.  In  New  York,  where  the  chaste 
little  City  Hall  occupies  the  centre  of  a green  that 
has  not  been  thus  protected,  dozens  of  millions  of 
dollars  have  been  expended  upon  structures  that 
edge  the  square  and  that  shut  it  in  with  lofty  walls 
which  utterly  dwarf  the  municipal  building.  The 
same  huge  sum  of  money  might  have  secured  a 
series  of  structures  that  would  have  been  civic  orna- 
ments. Those  that  have  risen,  while  fairly  good  of 
their  type,  do  not  include  a single  one  that  is  an  art 
possession,  such  as  would  have  been  appropriate 
around  the  edge  of  this  little  park  which  is  the  centre 
of  the  municipal  life  of  the  chief  city  of  the  United 
States.  The  apparently  lost  opportunity  points  to 
the  lesson  that  it  is  well  to  go  one  step  beyond  the 
grouping  of  the  public  buildings,  and  to  assure  the 
maximum  success  by  regulating  the  character  and 
size  of  the  buildings  that  bound  the  group. 


Sbe  atmiintetrative  Centre. 


97 


It  should  here  be  said  that  the  Municipal  Art 
Society  of  New  York  appointed  a committee  in  1902 
to  consider  the  possibility  of  securing  an  administrat- 
ive, or  civic,  centre  in  New  York,  by  grouping  pub- 
lic buildings  in  a central  location.  After  careful 
study,  the  committee  reported  in  favour  of  making 
the  present  City  Hall  Park  the  centre  of  such  a 
scheme.  It  recommended  that  the  park  be  cleared 
of  all  buildings  except  the  beautiful  City  Hall,  which 
is  in  the  middle  of  it,  and  that  the  municipality  pro- 
ceed to  acquire  all  of  the  property  (a  portion  of  which 
it  already  owned)  facing  the  park  directly  on  the 
north.  On  this  area,  and  on  a block  to  be  acquired 
on  the  east,  it  should  then  erect  new  administrative 
buildings.  These,  it  was  pointed  out,  with  the 
Post-Office  on  the  south,  would  furnish  at  least  a 
partial  frame  that  might  be  dignified  and  fairly  har- 
monious. The  committee  added  that  the  trans- 
formed park,  “attractive  and  spacious  to  an  extent 
that  can  now  be  scarcely  imagined,”  would  be  “a 
fitting  site  for  generations  to  come  for  every  class  of 
adornment  that  may  make  beautiful  the  place,  or 
commemorate  historical  events  or  characters.”  Even 
if  the  recommendations  of  the  report,  which  were 
presented  in  a persuasive  financial  as  well  as  aesthetic 
light,  are  not  to  be  carried  out,  they  must  have 
interest  as  showing  how  keenly  is  felt  the  need  of  a 
civic  centre. 

Though  conditions  be  ever  so  discouraging,  as 
certainly  they  appeared  to  be  in  New  York,  modern 


98 


flDo&ern  Civic  art. 


civic  art  will  not  be  content  to  forego  dreams  of  their 
betterment.  It  will  yet  have  that  civic  centre  vision 
which  was  the  climax  of  the  civic  art  of  the  Flemish 
and  the  Italian  Renaissance.  The  dream  of  New 
York  is  surpassed,  as  conditions  warrant,  by  a plan 
in  Chicago  for  grouping  public  buildings  on  the 
lake-front;  and  in  Springfield,  Massachusetts,  and 
Cleveland,  Ohio,  where  circumstances  have  given 
exceptional  advantages,  the  “group  plan,”  on  a 
square  that  leads  to  the  water-front,  is  being  actually 
secured.  In  each  of  these  places,  also,  it  is  the 
earnest  popular  interest  which  has  rendered  possible 
this  result. 

Finally,  it  may  be  suggested  as  a fitting  conclusion, 
that  the  architectural  grandeur  of  Athens,  Florence, 
Venice,  Budapest,  Moscow,  Antwerp,  and  Paris, — 
to  name  but  a few  examples, — is  due  largely  in  each 
case  to  the  concentration  of  the  chief  buildings. 
Imagine  its  chief  buildings  as  separated  and  isolated, 
and  the  beauty  of  each  of  these  cities  departs. 


■ , . - . : : ;f| 

IN  THE  BUSINESS  DISTRICT. 


p 


09 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  STREET  PLAN  OF  THE  BUSINESS 
DISTRICT. 

MODERN  civic  art,  having  fixed  certain  definite 
foci,  having  determined  that  here  shall  be 
the  formal  entrance  to  the  town  by  water, 
there  its  entrance  for  those  who  come  by  land,  and 
that  in  such  a place  its  public  business  shall  be  trans- 
acted ; having  laid  down  the  principle  that  an  open 
space  is  desirable  at  each  of  these  “nerve  centres,” 
and  that  important  streets  should  converge  to  them, — 
civic  art,  having  established  these  bases  and  gone  so 
far,  is  ready  to  take  up  the  larger  and  more  intricate 
problem  of  the  street  plan  of  the  business  district. 
The  problem  is  important,  interesting,  and  difficult. 
In  the  anatomy  of  the  city  there  is  no  point  at  which 
the  circulatory  demands  are  so  great,  so  insistent,  so 
impatient,  or  where  failure  to  provide  adequately  for 
them  is  so  injurious.  In  the  existing  city  there  is  no 
portion  where  it  is  more  difficult  to  make  changes, 
nor  is  there  any  district  that  has  been  allowed  to 
grow  with  so  little  scientific  planning. 


IOI 


102 


flDobern  Civic  Bit, 


In  the  average  town  in  the  United  States,  ever  a 
most  attractive  field  for  the  student  of  community 
development,  the  broad,  straight  Main  Street  of  the 
village  has  become  in  fact,  as  it  already  is  in  name, 
the  main  thoroughfare  of  the  town.  From  it  the 
business  has  overflowed  into  a series  of  narrow 
streets  that  cross  it  at  right  angles,  and  on  the 
broader  of  these  it  may  extend  some  distance.  The 
arrangement,  stretching  the  business  along  two  sides 
of  an  uncompleted  triangle,  is  the  most  inconvenient 
possible,  involving  greatest  loss  of  energy  and  time. 
Or  the  business,  having  found  no  cross  street  of 
especial  invitation,  may  extend  equally  along  a series 
of  them  and  then  spread  over  a thoroughfare  that, 
paralleling  the  main  street,  connects  them.  So  it 
will  overflow  a rectangle,  and  perhaps  a series  of 
these,  until  there  is  a large  business  district  tending 
to  be  rectangular.  In  no  other  equal  area  is  space  so 
precious,  or  time  and  distance  more  important  fac- 
tors; yet,  to  go  from  any  point  on  one  street  to  any 
point  on  one  that  is  parallel,  two  sides  of  the  triangle 
must  be  traversed.  Furthermore,  the  traffic,  far 
larger  than  had  been  intended  for  these  streets, 
doubtless  chokes  them.  Every  slowly  moving  truck 
impedes  every  vehicle  behind  it.  The  great  business 
houses,  barely  seen  from  the  mean  and  narrow 
thoroughfares,  lose  their  dignity.  Rapid-transit  facili- 
ties, crowded  on  to  one  or  two  broad  highways, 
contract  these  for  general  traffic  and,  consequently, 
the  attempted  rapid-transit  is  delayed.  In  London 


Street  plan  of  tbe  Business  ^District.  103 

where,  thanks  to  excellent  police  regulation,  the 
traffic  moves  with  relative  celerity,  a calculation  has 
been  made  that  “every  omnibus  and  cab  that  uses 
the  main  streets  of  the  ‘ City  ’ and  its  approaches  is 
delayed  on  an  average  half  an  hour  each  day  through 
blocks  and  partial  blocks.”  Could  the  money  loss 
of  this  to  passengers  in  cab  and  omnibus  be  esti- 
mated, consider  what  would  be  the  aggregate  ! 

A problem  that,  for  all  its  difficulty,  so  urgently 
invites  solution  has  not  lacked  for  thought.  There 
are  such  practical  requirements  that  civic  art  must 
have  had  pressing  claims  to  be  heard  among  them ; 
and  yet  it  is  heard,  for  if  the  centre  of  the  city  be  not 
imposing,  if  there  be  here  no  handsome  sites,  no  state- 
liness, no  majestic  thoroughfares,  and  the  conveni- 
ence of  the  business  be  not  consulted,  the  modern  city 
has  lamentably  failed  to  realise  the  ends  of  civic  art. 
The  courage  with  which  this  hardest  of  all  the  prob- 
lems has  been  attacked  in  the  world’s  great  cities  is  one 
of  the  most  interesting  and  inspiring,  as  it  is  one  of  the 
most  suggestive,  episodes  in  the  history  that  relates 
the  rise  of  the  new  ideal  for  cities  — that  ideal  born 
of  new  conditions  and  which  cannot  therefore  be  a 
fruitless  dream. 

This  essential  newness  of  the  problem  is  well 
illustrated  by  one  of  the  most  striking  attempts  that 
have  been  made  to  solve  it.  On  Christmas  day  in 
1857,  as  a result  of  preliminary  agitation,  Emperor 
Francis  Joseph  of  Austria  issued  a decree  addressed 
to  the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  requiring  that  “the 


104 


ffcobern  Civic  art. 


enlargement  of  the  inner  city  of  Vienna,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  its  suitable  connection  with  the  suburbs, 
should  be  undertaken  as  speedily  as  possible.”  It 
was  suggested  that  the  surrounding  fortifications 
and  ditches,  which  are  always  the  great  opportunity 
of  the  cramped  old  Continental  cities,  be  removed, 
and  that  at  the  same  time  there  be  made  adequate 
provision  of  sites  for  a new  war  office,  a city  mar- 
shall’s office,  an  opera  house,  imperial  archives,  a 
town  hall,  and  the  necessary  buildings  for  museums 
and  galleries.  The  decree  required  that  there  be 
opened  a competition  for  plans  for  the  improvement, 
the  jury  to  consist  of  a commission  of  high  officials 
representing  various  interests,  these  commissioners 
before  making  the  awards,  however,  to  “submit  the 
plans  to  a committee  of  specialists  appointed  by 
them.”  Three  designs  were  to  be  selected  for  prizes 
and  the  premiums  were  to  be  two  thousand,  one 
thousand,  and  five  hundred  gold  ducats.  This  was 
the  opportunity,  the  perception  and  courageous 
seizure  of  which  have  since  made  Vienna  so  superb 
and  famous.  Eighty-five  designs  were  submitted, 
and  though  none  of  the  premiated  plans  was  literally 
carried  out,  they  gave  suggestions  and  set  the  stand- 
ard for  the  final  scheme.  But  this,  as  the  decree 
required,  dealt  rather  with  the  enlargement  of  the 
inner  city  and  its  convenient  connection  with  the 
suburbs  than  with  a remodelling  of  the  district  itself. 

Thirty-five  years  later,  in  the  last  decade  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  the  municipality  took  up  the  latter 


Street  plan  of  tbe  Businese  District.  105 

problem,  inviting  the  architects  and  engineers  of  the 
world  to  compete  in  the  submission  of  plans  for  the 
remodelling  of  old,  central  Vienna.  There  were  two 
prizes  of  ten  thousand  florins,  three  of  five  thousand, 
and  three  of  three  thousand  florins.  For  “ part  de- 
signs which  do  not  comprise  the  whole  city,  but 
consider  only  a few  questions  of  the  improvement, 
or  means  of  communication,”  there  were  prizes  of 
three  thousand  florins  and  under;  and  finally  prizes 
were  promised  for  plans  that  were  good  in  parts 
though  not  satisfactory  as  a whole.  The  jury  was 
composed  mainly  of  professors,  leading  architects, 
and  engineers ; and  far-off  Vienna  proved  again 
that  she  had  nothing  to  learn  either  as  to  modern 
municipal  ideals  or  civic  spirit  from  Berlin  or  Paris 
or  Rome  or  from  the  hurrying  cities  of  England  and 
America. 

The  early  days  of  Philadelphia  and  New  York 
offered  exceptional  opportunities  for  a scientific  plan- 
ning of  the  business  districts  in  communities  which, 
as  could  be  even  then  foreseen,  were  destined  to 
become  great  cities.  That  the  outcome  in  each  case 
is  a failure,  an  example  of  what  not  to  do,  shows 
how  little  progress  had  yet  been  made  in  the  physical 
science  of  cities.  There  was,  however,  conscious- 
ness of  the  problem  and  its  thoughtful  consideration. 
For  Philadelphia  no  less  a personage  than  William 
Penn  made  a plan.  Its  feature  was  a long  series  of 
rectangles  that  were  almost  squares,  the  straight 
highways  unrelieved  by  curve  or  diagonal,  with  two 


io6 


flbobern  Civic  art. 


of  the  streets,  which  crossed  at  right  angles  in  a big 
open  space  nearly  in  the  middle  of  the  tract,  consid- 
erably broader  than  the  others.  If  there  was  little  of 
art  or  science  about  the  design,  there  was  enough 
forethought  to  appreciate  the  value  of  frequent  open 
spaces  for  the  admission  of  light  and  air  to  a 
crowded  section,  for  the  provision  of  good  building- 
sites  on  the  ground  facing  the  public  areas,  and  for 
relieving  the  monotony  of  the  district.  Penn’s  plan 
shows  five  such  spaces,  each  half  as  large  again  as 
an  ordinary  block,  in  a district  only  five  blocks  broad 
by  twenty-two  long.1  Had  the  same  proportion 
been  secured  for  the  closely  built-up  sections  of  the 
city  when  it  extended  beyond  this  district,  as  the 
Consolidation  Act  of  1854  directed  should  be  done, 
there  would  have  been  two  hundred  and  eighty 
small  parks  in  the  city  plan  of  Philadelphia  at  the 
beginning  of  the  twentieth  century  instead  of  the 
forty-five  that  were  actually  there.  But  there  was 
not  enough  public  appreciation  of  the  importance 
of  the  problem  to  secure  the  adoption  of  even  the 
one  redeeming  feature  of  Penn’s  plan.  The  straight 
streets  and  rectangular  blocks,  unrelieved  by  frequent 
open  spaces,  extended  over  the  growing  city  and 
were  adopted  as  a model  by  the  thirty  or  more  out- 
lying towns  and  villages  that  have  since  been  in- 
corporated in  it. 

When  New  York  came  to  wrestle  with  the  pro- 
blem, in  1807,  the  public  held  it  serious  enough  to 


The  area  between  Vine  and  South  streets  and  the  Delaware  and  Schuylkill  rivers. 


Street  plan  of  the  Business  District.  107 


demand  the  consideration  of  a formally  appointed 
commission.  This  laid  down  — tradition  says  with 
a mason’s  hand  sieve  — the  familiar  gridiron  plan. 
The  one  irregular  thoroughfare  was  Broadway,  al- 
ready a road  of  too  much  importance  to  be  molested, 
and  to  that  happy  chance  New  York  owes  the  only 
opportunities  for  civic  stateliness  or  beauty  afforded 
in  its  street  arrangement.  Broadway  has  developed, 
too,  as  the  great  -business  street,  just  as  the  diagonal 
Ridge  Avenue  in  Philadelphia  has  become,  in  spite 
of  its  narrowness,  a street  of  shops.  If,  as  wisely 
remarked,  “ the  shop-keepers  go  where  the  travel  is,” 
the  value  of  the  diagonal  thoroughfare  for  circulatory 
purposes  is  attested. 

But  there  are  other  faults  in  the  rectilinear  plan. 
Frederick  Law  Olmsted  has  put  some  of  them  well 
in  saying  of  the  commission’s  work  : 

Some  two  thousand  blocks  were  provided,  each  theoretic- 
ally two  hundred  feet  wide,  no  more,  no  less;  and  ever  since,  if  a 
building  site  is  wanted,  whether  with  a view  to  a church  or  a 
blast  furnace,  an  opera  house  or  a toy  shop,  there  is,  of  intention, 
no  better  place  in  one  of  these  blocks  than  in  another.  . . . 

If  a proposed  cathedral,  military  depot,  great  manufacturing  enter- 
prise, house  of  religious  seclusion,  or  seat  of  learning  needs  a 
space  of  ground  more  than  sixty-six  yards  in  extent,  from  north 
to  south,  the  system  forbids  that  it  shall  be  built  in  New  York. 

. . . There- is  no  place  in  New  York  where  a stately  building 

can  be  looked  up  to  from  base  to  turret,  none  where  it  can  even 
be  seen  full  in  the  face  and  all  at  once  taken  in  by  the  eye;  none 
where  it  can  be  viewed  in  advantageous  perspective.  . . . 

Such  distinctive  advantage  of  position  as  Rome  gives  St.  Peter’s, 
Paris  the  Madeleine,  London  St.  Paul’s,  New  York,  under  her 
system,  gives  to  nothing. 


fU>ot>ern  Civic  Brt. 


108 


The  plan  offers  the  maximum  of  building  area, 
but  the  minimum  of  effect. 

Costly  failures  where  there  might  have  been 
magnificent  successes  are  not  confined  to  the  United 
States.  If  modern  civic  art  has  learned,  the  world 
over,  a lesson,  if  it  has  been  taught  to  recognise  the 
worth  of  a street  plan  for  the  business  district  that 
shall  consult  convenience  of  travel  and  stateliness  of 
result,  it  has  done  so  by  dear  experience  widely  dis- 
tributed. To  devise  on  paper  a plan  intelligent  and 
comprehensive  required  no  impossible  genius ; to 
secure  public  appreciation  of  such  a plan  required 
examples  not  only  of  its  success  but  of  the  failure 
of  simpler  plans.  In  London  after  the  great  fire 
there  was  presented  an  opportunity  as  thrilling  as 
any  that  America  has  had.  Here,  in  the  heart  of  the 
world’s  greatest  and  richest  city,  a large  district 
could  be  replanned.  There  was  a genius  who  saw 
the  chance  and  contrived  a scheme  that  would  have 
rendered  London  superb  among  the  cities  of  to-day  ; 
but  the  design  of  Sir  Christopher  Wren  was  in  ad- 
vance of  the  age,  and  you  must  seek  diligently  now 
to  find  it  in  the  archives  of  an  Oxford  college.  Four 
hundred  and  thirty-six  acres  had  been  burned  over ; 
a cathedral  and  eighty-seven  churches  were  to  be 
rebuilt ; a site  was  to  be  found  for  a new  exchange 
and  for  other  public  buildings;  and  of  about  fourteen 
thousand  structures,  some  of  which  might  have  stood 
in  the  way  of  a new  planning,  not  one  was  left. 

But  London  was  rebuilt  in  the  old  way,  and  such 


Street  plan  of  tbe  Business  district.  io9 

improvements  as  have  since  been  made,  unsatisfactory 
as  they  are,  have  cost  enormously.  From  1798  to 
1821  ten  select  committees  made  reports  on  particu- 
lar improvements.  In  another  twenty  years,  from 
1832  to  1851,  Parliament  appointed  eleven  or  twelve 
select  committees  to  take  into  consideration  plans 
for  the  improvement  of  London  and  to  advise  as  to 
the  best  means  for  carrying  out  the  plans.  These 
committees  did  little  more  than  report  on  the  causes 
of  the  crowding — which  were  obvious  enough — and 
on  the  difficulty  of  making  changes  owing  to  the 
great  cost.  All  this  was  impressing  the  lesson.  At 
last,  however,  conditions  became  so  serious  that  vast 
expenses  had  to  be  assumed.  In  the  thirty-four 
years  from  1855  to  1889  the  Metropolitan  Board  of 
Works  expended  upon  street  changes  and  improve- 
ments more  than  fifteen  millions  sterling.  The  net 
cost,  after  recoupments  from  the  sale  of  surplus  land, 
exceeded  ten  millions  sterling,  while  a million  and  a 
half  pounds  more  had  been  paid  out  by  the  board 
in  grants  to  local  districts,  to  aid  them  in  bearing  the 
cost  of  the  smaller  street  improvements.  It  was 
at  about  the  end  of  this  period  that  the  chairman 
of  the  improvement  committee  of  the  London  County 
Council  observed  that  the  streets  of  London  meas- 
ured some  two  thousand  miles,  and  that  in  the  thirty 
years  ending  with  1889  the  board  of  public  works 
had  succeeded,  with  its  great  expenditure,  in  con- 
structing a total  length  of  fifteen  and  four-fifths  miles 
of  new  streets,  with  an  average  width  of  sixty  feet. 


I IO 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


He  noted  this  with  pride;  but  those  who  know 
Wren’s  plan,  who  recall  how  easily  it  might  have 
been  adopted,  and  its  lines  extended  over  the  whole 
metropolitan  area  as  London  stretched  farther  into 
the  country,  can  see  only  pathos  in  his  figures,  and 
realise  more  keenly  than  before  the  value  of  care  in 
original  street  planning. 

The  plan  of  Sir  Christopher  Wren  for  the  re- 
building of  burned  London  was  in  accord  with  the 
principles  of  civic  art  as  they  are  recognised  to-day. 
Wren  was  surveyor-general,  so  that  his  masterly 
design  took  a natural  precedence;  it  was  accepted 
also  by  the  king,  and  what  now  seems  the  mere 
accident  of  a lack  of  ever  so  little  ready  money  and 
a desire  for  haste  were  allowed  to  prevent  the  future 
splendour  and  convenience  of  the  great  city.  The 
main  features  of  his  plan,  which  well  repays  study, 
were  to  be,  going  from  west  to  east:  (i)  A circular 
space  at  the  top  of  Fleet  Street  hill,  about  on  the  site 
of  St.  Dunstan’s  Church.  From  this  eight  streets 
were  to  radiate,  the  eight  to  be  connected  with  one 
another  at  a suitable  distance  from  the  centre  by 
cross  streets,  these  forming  an  octagon  in  relation  to 
the  circle.  (2)  A triangular  space  in  full  view  from 
Fleet  Street  hill.  This  was  to  widen  toward  the  east 
and  was  to  include  St.  Paul’s  and  Doctors’  Com- 
mons. (3)  An  open  space  in  the  centre  of  which 
should  stand,  on  its  old  site,  the  Royal  Exchange, 
and  grouped  around  this  space  were  to  be  the  public 
buildings.  From  this  point,  which  was  to  be  the 


Sir*  Christopher  Wren’s  Plan  for  Rebuilding  ^Lpndon  after  the  Great  Fire  in  1666. 


Street  plan  of  tbe  Business  District,  m 

topographical  centre,  there  were  to  radiate  ten 
streets,  each  sixty  feet  wide.  Three  of  these  reached 
directly  down  to  the  river,  offering  from  it  a noble 
view  of  the  Exchange.  Along  the  river  bank  there 
was  to  be  a broad  quay,  and  opposite  London  Bridge 
a large  semicircular  space  with  arterial  streets  radiat- 
ing outward.  Here  and  there,  where  radials  of  dif- 
ferent systems  crossed,  there  were  established  new 
open  spaces  and  new  centres.  The  plan  showed,  in 
brief,  that  use  of  broad'  straight  streets  linked  to- 
gether by  monumental  buildings,  that  provision  of 
commanding  sites  for  important  structures,  that  use 
of  diagonals,  of  open  areas,  and  of  curving  streets 
with  their  changing  view-points,  which  the  accepted 
plans  of  Paris,  of  Vienna,  and  of  Washington  have 
now  made  familiar. 

The  opportunity  was  allowed  to  pass,  and  all  the 
subsequent  and  costly  changes  in  the  London  plan 
have  proved  inadequate,  because  it  since  has  been 
impossible  financially  to  carry  out  a single  compre- 
hensive scheme  that  should  bring  every  part  into 
direct  relations  with  every  other.  In  all  street 
planning  there  must  be  regard  for  the  through  lines 
of  travel  as  surely  as  for  the  local,  and  it  is  these 
through  courses  which  scattered  improvements 
generally  fail  to  benefit  to  great  extent.  The  through 
travel  in  its  usually  heavy  volume  demands  arterial 
thoroughfares  that  shall  be  wide,  uniform  in  their 
width,  straight,  of  easy  gradient,  and  on  the  direct 
line  between  important  foci.  These  requirements 


1 12 


HDo&ern  Civic  art. 


alone  involve  a considerable  dignity  of  aspect.  To 
gain  the  best  spectacular  results,  however,  civic  art 
must  be  mindful  also  of  other  factors.  Perhaps  the 
most  notable  of  these  in  the  business  district  is  the 
architectural  effect. 

The  relation  between  the  architecture  and  the 
street  plan  is  reciprocal.  Each  can  do  so  much  for 
the  other  that  while,  on  the  one  hand,  a street 
may  be  opened  or  widened  simply  that  a monu- 
mental structure  may  be  the  better  seen,  on  the 
other  hand  the  precise  location  of  a new  street  may 
be  determined  by  the  position  of  existing  structures 
that  are  prominent,  according  as  they  would  or 
would  not  close  the  vista  of  the  street,  and  so 
enhance  its  beauty.  For  in  a city  mere  distance  is 
not  fine.  There  should  be  set  up  visible  limits,  or  at 
least  accents,  and  the  ideal  would  be  to  proportion 
the  breadth  of  the  thoroughfare  to  the  distance 
between  these  limits  or  main  accents.  We  have 
seen  in  this  connection  how  Sir  Christopher  Wren 
built  up  his  street  plan  from  the  focal  points  offered 
by  important  buildings  and  then  on  the  minor  axes 
obtained  variety  of  treatment.  We  may  observe 
also  how  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  in  Paris  is  made  a 
topographical  centre  whence  twelve  great  streets 
radiate,  and  how  fully  again  the  method  is  exempli- 
fied in  the  plan  of  Washington. 

A few  years  ago  there  was  a project  on  foot  in 
Brussels  to  prolong  a certain  street1  in  order  to 

1 The  Rue  du  Lombard  toward  the  Rue  Saint-Jean. 


Street  plan  of  tbe  Business  District.  113 

establish  direct  communication  between  two  im- 
portant points.  The  utilitarian  advantages  of  the 
proposed  street  were  overwhelming,  but  the  matter 
was  not  decided  until  that  national  society  of  workers 
for  civic  art,  L’GEuvre  Nationale  Beige,  had  prepared 
a report  on  the  aesthetic  effect.  This  report  showed 
what  view  of  the  Palais  de  Justice  the  new  street 
would  reveal,  what  views  it  would  afford  of  two 
churches  that  were  on  its  line,  the  character  of  the 
new  view  it  would  open  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  and 
finally  what  would  be  the  general  aspect  of  the 
street  itself  and  of  the  lateral  streets  as  seen  from  it. 
The  incident  is  a happy  illustration  of  the  many  points^ 
that  civic  art  would  have  kept  in  mind  when  arranging 
or  changing  the  street  plan  of  a city’s  centre. 

And  there  are  some  other  requirements  even  than 
these.  There  is  to  be  considered  the  general  line  of 
frontage,  or  building  line,  for  this  may  be  set  back  to 
widen  a narrow  street;  the  erection  of  porticoes  over 
the  walk,  the  projection  and  height  of  balconies  and 
awnings,  and  finally  the  regulation  of  building  heights 
if  we  would  have  an  imposing  thoroughfare.  In 
the  European  cities,  where  more  frequently  than  in 
the  United  States  the  central  authority  pushes  new 
streets  through  closely  built-up  districts,  there  are 
statutes  to  control  all  these  matters.  Though  these 
deal  so  directly  with  the  architectural  aspect  of  the 
city  that  they  may  be  considered  more  fittingly  under 
that  head,  it  is  well  to  observe  here  that  their  special 

design  is  to  preserve  the  dignity  of  the  street. 

8 


flftobcrit  Civic  Hrt. 


114 


In  laying  down,  then,  an  ideal  street  plan,  for  the 
business  district  of  a city,  there  should  be  first  a 
comprehensive  scheme,  a skeleton  of  arterial  thor- 
oughfares to  provide  for  the  through  travel  from 
point  to  point.  These  great  roads  will  be  direct, 
broad,  straight,  and  free  from  heavy  grades.  At  the 
focal  points  there  will  be  open  spaces  and  from  these 
the  great  streets  will  radiate.  Then,  in  laying  down 
the  precise  location  of  any  one  of  them,  we  shall  note 
what  views  it  opens,  what  its  accents  are,  and,  if 
possible,  we  shall  proportion  its  width  to  its  length 
or  seeming  length.  On  the  lateral  and  minor  streets, 
designed  for  local  traffic,  we  shall  obtain  a pleasing 
variety  in  the  street  lines  — even  if  it  be  only  that  of 
sudden  regularity.  Later  on  we  will  safeguard  the 
appearance  of  the  street  by  building  regulations;  we 
may  even  swerve  it  a little  to  preserve  an  historic  or 
beautiful  edifice;  and  we  will  take  care  that  if  it  is  to 
pass  upon  viaduct  or  bridge,  or  if  a bridge  is  to  be 
suspended  over  it,  the  majesty  and  beauty  of  the 
street  shall  not  be  destroyed  by  a hideous  structure. 
In  carelessness  of  civic  art,  in  haste,  in  wonder  at  the 
prowess  of  modern  industrialism  and  awe  of  our 
cunning  with  iron  and  steel,  we  have  suffered  a 
hopelessly  unaesthetic  truss  bridge,  cheaply  made 
and  quickly  put  together,  to  become  a common  and 
well-nigh  prevailing  type.  The  marvel  is  not  that 
iron  and  steel  are  used,  but  that  we  submit  to  their 
use  in  ugly  lines.  Suppose,  it  has  been  suggested, 
that  under  the  eaves  of  Notre  Dame  in  Paris  there 


Street  plan  of  the  Business  District.  115 

were,  instead  of  the  graceful  sweeps  of  the  arched 
bridges  across  the  Seine,  a couple  of  truss  construc- 
tions— like,  for  example,  the  bridge  by  which  rich 
Chicago  has  permitted  State  Street  to  be  demeaned, 
— how  the  aspect  not  of  a street  alone,  but  of  Paris, 
would  be  changed!  How  much  poorer  in  urban 
beauty  would  be  the  world! 

As  to  the  focal  points,  earlier  chapters  have  sug- 
gested what  these  are  likely  to  be.  The  government 
buildings,  the  entrances  to  the  town,  by  water  and 
by  land — these  are  sure  receiving  and  distributing 
centres.  Wren’s  plan  has  suggested  the  artificial 
creation  of  additional  and  local  foci  at  convenient 
points,  and  the  plan  of  Paris  shows  how  such  topo- 
graphical centres  may  be  located  with  reference  to 
monumental  constructions  (as  the  Arc  de  Triomphe) 
that  are  not  in  themselves  magnets  of  travel  but  the 
conspicuousness  of  which  is  desirable  on  spectacular 
grounds.  That  the  creation  of  such  local  centres 
may  very  greatly  enhance  the  commercial  value  of 
their  building  sites,  in  the  business  districts  of  cities, 
is  obvious  enough.  But  the  importance  of  an  arbi- 
trary focus  can  be  still  further  enhanced,  so  that  it 
becomes  more  than  local. 

An  interesting  example  is  found  in  the  plan  of 
Dalny,  the  new  city  that  Russia  constructed  as  a 
Pacific  seaport  terminal  for  its  Trans-Siberian  Rail- 
road. The  street  plan  of  this  entire  city  was  made 
in  the  office  of  the  Russian  engineers  before  any 
building  was  commenced.  There  are  many  diagonal 


fIDobern  Civic  art. 


I 16 

arterial  thoroughfares,  tire  crossing  points  of  the 
different  systems  of  radials  creating  local  centres,  and 
in  front  of  the  railway  station  there  is  a plaza  which 
is  an  important  focus.  But  in  the  heart  of  the  town 
a circular  public  space  had  been  laid  out.  Ten  long 
straight  streets  converge  upon  it,  connected  by  a 
circular  street  that  forms  the  circle’s  circumference. 
Built  around  this,  with  excellent  effect  in  the  plan, 
there  were  to  be  ten  structures,  each  in  its  separate 
little  block.  Yet  they  included — and  it  must  be  re- 
membered that  the  list  was  made  out  in  an  office, 
before  a house  had  been  put  up — buildings  of  as  little 
individual  importance  as  a private  bank  (three),  a 
theatre,  a club-house,  a post-  and  telegraph-office. 
Still  the  aggregate  result,  the  town  hall  and  some 
government  offices  being  added,  locates  the  heart  of 
the  city.  It  is  a valuable  suggestion  for  towns  of 
minor  importance. 

But  the  opportunity  for  new  planning  on  the  scale 
of  Dalny  may  come  only  once  in  a hundred  years. 
Such  transformations  as  have  been  wrought  in  Paris 
and  Vienna,  such  extensive  changes  of  street  plan  and 
aspect  as  Berlin  and  Rome  have  brought  about,  and 
such  magnificently  comprehensive  projects  as  now 
accepted  for  Washington,  are  possible  only  under 
a government  that  is  locally  autocratic.  Most  cities 
of  England,  and  especially  of  America,  must  make 
their  revisions  step  by  step.  For  this  there  is  no  less 
need  of  a good  general  scheme.  That  every  step 
may  count,  that  every  improvement  shall  bring  a lit- 


Street  plan  of  tbe  Business  District,  n 7 

tie  nearer  to  realisation  that  complete  scheme  which 
would  be  best,  there  must  be  a fixed  ideal  in  mind. 
That  is  why  civic  art  insists  so  earnestly  on  the  value 
of  the  principles  of  a general  street  plan.  If  we  have 
not  these,  we  shall  be  in  danger  of  widening  at  great 
cost  a street  that  comes  from  nowhere  and  leads  to 
nothing,  that  for  all  its  width  will  be  deserted  be- 
cause the  through  travel  takes  a route  that  is  more 
direct;  we  shall  be  opening  spaces  to  which  there  is 
no  convergence  of  thoroughfares,  or  we  shall  make 
a mockery  of  “improvement”  by  choking  a corner 
with  criss-cross  travel  through  focusing  important 
streets  where  there  is  only  a street’s  width  to  handle 
the  converging  traffic. 

That  such  dangers  are  before  us  always,  that  the 
problem  of  the  street  plan  even  in  the  business  dis- 
trict is  not  theoretical,  there  is  abundant  proof.  Con- 
sider the  changes  that  London  is  making,  while  this 
is  being  written,  in  the  widening  of  the  Strand  and 
the  opening  of  the  great  new  thoroughfare  from  Hol- 
born  to  the  Strand.  In  New  York  the  administration 
is  having  public  hearings  on  the  plans  for  street  ap- 
proaches to  the  new  bridges.  In  Pittsburg  the  Archi- 
tectural Club  has  lately  had  a competition  of  plans 
“for  the  improvement  of  the  down-town  districts.” 
In  Toronto  the  like  project  is  under  earnest  public 
discussion.  In  San  Francisco  it  has  been  seriously 
taken  up.  New  stations,  new  bridges,  new  build- 
ings, and,  above  all,  the  growing  congestion  of  an 
increasing  population  — so  sadly  felt  where  there  is 


i iS 


flDobeot  civic  art 


no  scientific  plan  of  circulation  — are  forcing  these 
problems  ever  before  us. 

When  the  new  charter  for  Greater  New  York 
was  prepared,  the  need  of  rectifying  the  street  sys- 
tem, and  of  doing  this  in  accordance  with  a compre- 
hensive scheme  that  should  not  be  unduly  influenced 
by  local  considerations,  was  felt  so  keenly  that  pro- 
vision was  made  for  a general  Board  of  Public  Im- 
provements. An  accident  of  politics  put  on  the  first 
board  some  incompetent  men,  and  in  disgust  the 
board  was  abolished  when  the  charter  was  revised. 
But  the  need  remained,  and  there  came  to  be  de- 
manded even  the  creation  of  an  expert  commission, 
such  as  that  which  was  working  so  successfully  for 
Washington.  The  problem  in  its  universal  applica- 
tion is  not,  as  we  have  seen,  merely  that  of  circu- 
lation. The  traffic  is  not  alone  in  clamouring  for  its 
solution.  It  is  presented  also  that  adequate  building 
sites  may  be  provided  — sites  that  may  be  large 
enough  for  a great  building,  sites  to  which  impress- 
iveness of  effect  belong,  and  to  which  there  may  be 
noble  approaches,  sites  that  can  offer  a frontage  on 
at  least  three  streets  without  the  necessity  of  owning 
half  a block. 

There  is,  perhaps,  too  common  a notion  that  the 
way  to  secure  comfort  and  convenience  for  the  travel 
and  to  bestow  on  the  business  district  of  a city  splend- 
our of  appearance  is  simply  to  widen  streets.  As 
well  might  one  think  that  the  one  way  to  emphasise 
a word  in  speaking  is  to  scream  it,  and  that  therein 


Street  pan  of  tbe  Business  District.  119 

lay  the  secret  of  the  art  of  oratory!  The  error  must 
be  clear  from  what  has  been  said;  but  to  emphasise 
it  we  may  note  that  in  Paris  the  Avenue  de  l’Opera 
is  one  hundred  and  twenty  feet  wide,  and  the  Rue  de 
Rivoli  one  hundred  feet  wide,  while  in  London  Hol- 
born,  Oxford  Street,  and  Bayswater  Road  have  a width 
of  seventy  feet  (and  reach  for  four  miles).  Regent 
Street  is  eighty  feet  broad,  and  Queen  Victoria  Street 
seventy-five  feet.  We  may  ask  ourselves  how  much 
of  the  difference  in  the  impressions  that  these  streets 
make  is  due  to  difference  of  width.  As  far  as  appear- 
ance goes,  the  architectural  termini  and  the  relative 
length  are  always  stronger  factors.  The  width  de- 
manded by  the  traffic  alone  is  not,  also,  to  be  determ- 
ined merely  by  the  traffic’s  mass.  The  grade  and 
the  speed  at  which  the  travel  moves  must  be  carefully 
considered  in  interpreting  the  requirements  of  its 
volume. 

There  is,  too,  something  to  be  said  about  the 
choice  of  the  local  improvements  that  are  to  be  under- 
taken for  bettering  the  urban  conditions.  There 
should  be  remembrance  that  it  is  the  municipal, 
as  much  as  the  local,  condition  which  it  is  necessary 
to  improve.  The  committee  of  the  London  County 
Council  which  has  this  matter  in  charge  states  that  in 
preparing  its  annual  recommendations  to  the  council 
it  “ gives  the  fullest  consideration  to  the  requirements 
of  each  district,  and  accordingly  selects,  from  all  parts 
of  London,  such  improvements  as  are  most  urgently 
needed  and  which  will  be  of  the  greatest  advantage 


120  flDobent  Civic  art. 

to  the  general  through  travel.”  This  states  the  rule 
precisely. 

Now,  as  to  securing  the  radical  street  changes 
that  may  be  required,  there  are  in  general  five  meth- 
ods of  procedure : first,  the  constructing  authority 
may  acquire  only  those  properties  the  whole  or  por- 
tions of  which  are  actually  needed  for  the  new  or 
widened  street.  This  is  the  method  usually  adopted 
by  the  London  County  Council.  Second,  there  may 
be  secured  more  land  than  is  actually  needed  for  the 
improvement,  with  a view  to  the  gaining  of  valuable 
building  sites.  The  plan  is  suggested  in  the  quoted 
decree  for  the  improvement  of  Vienna.  Third,  pro- 
perty over  a large  area  through  which  the  improve- 
ment passes  may  be  acquired,  with  a view  to 
abolishing  a slum  district  for  instance.  Examples  of 
this  are  found  in  some  of  the  provincial  cities  of  Great 
Britain  and  where  large  land  improvement  companies 
have  operated.  Fourth,  the  acquisition  of  only  that 
property  which  is  to  be  added  to  the  public  way  and 
the  levying  of  an  improvement  charge  upon  the  ad- 
jacent lands.  This  is  a familiar  American  method. 
Fifth,  a modification  of  the  third  scheme  to  the  extent 
that  the  acquirements  are  confined  to  freehold  and 
long  leasehold  interests,  the  short  leaseholds  being 
allowed  to  run  out.  When  the  acquirements  exceed 
the  needs  of  the  new  or  widened  street  itself  there 
may  be  important  recoupments  by  the  sale  of  the 
sites  made  so  much  more  valuable  through  the  im- 
provement. When  the  acquirements  are  not  so  con- 


Street  plan  of  tbe  Business  District.  121 

siderable  as  to  constitute  good  sites,  or  when  no  land 
is  secured  beyond  that  needed  for  the  street  itself, — 
which  is  pushed  ruthlessly  through,  regardless  of  the 
cutting  of  lots, — there  may  be  left  along  its  edges 
building  sites  so  meagre  and  fragmentary  as  to  be 
comparatively  worthless.  In  such  case  the  improve- 
ment, instead  of  affording  a handsome  thoroughfare, 
results  for  a long  time  in  only  a dismal  collection  of  the 
backs  of  buildings  and  . of  patches  of  vacant  land. 
Such  an  outcome  must  be  anticipated  and  guarded 
against  in  making  the  new  street. 

There  is  one  other  consideration  to  influence  some- 
times the  location  of  new  business  thoroughfares,  or 
to  add  to  the  estimate  of  their  value.  It  has  been 

found  that  often  there  is  no  better  wav  to  redeem  a 

•/ 

slum  district  than  by  cutting  into  it  a great  highway 
that  will  be  filled  with  the  through  travel  of  a city’s 
industry.  Like  a stream  of  pure  water  cleansing 
what  it  touches,  this  tide  of  traffic,  pulsing  with  the 
joyousness  of  the  city’s  life  of  toil  and  purpose,  when 
flowing  through  an  idle  or  suffering  district  wakes  it 
to  larger  interests  and  higher  purpose. 

There  is,  finally,  this  to  remember,  and  it  is  the 
especial  text  of  municipal  aesthetics.  Until  there  is  a 
good  street  plan,  modern  civic  art  can  come  to  little. 
A Greek  sculptor  charged  his  pupil  with  having  richly 
ornamented  a statue  because  he  “ knew  not  how  to 
make  it  beautiful.”  Beauty  is  dependent  on  a fine- 
ness of  line,  a chastity  of  form,  the  lack  of  which  can 
be  atoned  for  by  no  ornament  that  is  superimposed, 


I 22 


flDobetn  Civic  Hit. 


by  no  added  decoration.  And  this  is  no  more  true 
in  sculpture  than  in  the  street  plan,  which  is  the 
skeleton  of  the  city,  the  framework  of  the  structure 
in  the  highest  and  most  complex  of  all  the  arts — the 
art  of  noble  city-building. 


I 


CHAPTER  VI!. 

ARCHITECTURE  IN  THE  BUSINESS  DISTRICT. 

WE  have  seen  that  a street  which  is  badly 
planned  can  look  for  little  stateliness  or 
even  beauty,  however  meritorious  is 
the  construction  along  its  borders  or  the  decoration 
heaped  upon  it.  Conversely,  we  have  seen  that  the 
best  planned  street  requires,  for  full  effect,  the  safe- 
guarding of  its  architecture,  the  establishment  of  a 
building  line,  probably  of  a cornice  line,  and  the  pro- 
tection of  statutes  regulating  the  height  of  balconies 
and  awnings  and  the  construction  of  porticoes  over 
the  walks.  These  are  all  matters  that  deal  indeed 
with  the  architecture,  but  their  design  primarily  is 
to  guard  the  beauty  or  dignity  of  the  way.  The 
regulation  and  the  obligations  of  construction  be- 
come, then,  a distinct  phase  of  civic  aesthetics. 

This  is  not  merely  because  architecture  is  so 
important  in  itself  that  whatever  protects  it  or  adds 
to  its  imposing  character  adds  immensely  to  the  im- 
pression made  by  the  city.  It  is  because  the  street 


124 


fifco&ent  Civic  art. 


is  so  dependent  on  the  architecture  for  the  effect 
which  is  offered,  that  the  latter  becomes  practically  a 
constructive  element  of  the  street.  Especially  must 
this  be  true  in  the  business  district,  where  the  lots 
contain  no  open  space  before  the  structures  that  will 
divide  responsibility  for  the  aspect  of  the  way.  In 
this  district  particularly,  then,  would  civic  art  cherish 
the  architecture,  and  with  an  equal  zeal  for  the  street’s 
and  architecture’s  sake.  In  this  district,  too,  the  archi- 
tecture is  of  so  distinct  a type  from  that  in  the  residen- 
tial area  as  to  offer  in  any  event  a separate  problem. 

The  most  striking  modern  characteristic  of  the 
construction  which  is  to  be  found  in  the  business 
districts  of  cities  is  height.  There  are  not  wanting 
some  indications  of  a reaction;  but  for  the  present  at 
least,  and  for  some  years  to  come,  the  surpassing 
height  of  great  office  buildings  will  be  the  most  domin- 
ant feature  of  the  business  area.  More  than  this,  the 
permanent  level  of  building  height  for  the  whole 
district  has  been  raised  so  greatly,  whatever  the  pos- 
sible reaction,  as  to  constitute  in  itself  a clear  division 
between  old  and  modern  construction  methods. 

The  influence  of  this  on  civic  art  is  pronounced. 
Tall  buildings  are  concentrators  of  business.  Great 
office  structures,  side  by  side  or  facing  each  other 
across  a narrow  street,  may  easily  house  a daytime 
population  of  three  to  five  thousand  persons.  A 
population  as  large  as  was  spread  over  a square  mile 
or  more  of  these  same  streets,  in  the  days  of  the  vil- 
lage from  which  the  city  grew,  is  now  crowded  upon 


A Bit  of  New  York,  at  Bowling  Green.  Height  as  the  most  striking  characteristic  of  modern  commercial  building. 


architecture  in  tbe  Business  District.  125 

one  block  of  one  street.  It  is  this  circumstance 
which  has  lately  urged,  with  an  insistence  that  has 
become  compulsion,  the  widening  of  many  thorough- 
fares, the  cutting  through  of  new  streets,  and  the 
study  of  a scientific  system  of  street  planning.  The 
tall  building  requires  a wide  street  quite  as  much  be- 
cause of  the  congestion  of  travel  it  brings  as  because 
it  shuts  the  sunshine  out  of  narrow  streets  or  because 
it  cannot  be  fitly  seen  without  a perspective  sufficient 
at  least  to  offer  an  appreciable  visual  angle.  Yet 
these  latter  considerations  are  potent  also.  They 
belong  more  obviously  to  the  field  of  art.  They  ex- 
plain the  aesthetic  desirability  of  wide  streets  where 
tall  buildings  are.  In  the  present  discussion,  how- 
ever, we  are  assuming  the  street  and  have  to  con- 
sider the  building. 

A degree  of  harmony  if  not  of  uniformity  is  clearly 
to  be  desired  in  the  buildings  along  the  thoroughfare. 
The  business  street  is  essentially  formal.  There  is 
nothing  in  the  world  more  artificial,  for  there  is  not 
a stick  or  stone  of  it  which  has  not  been  placed  by 
the  hand  of  man.  Orderliness,  therefore,  is  required. 
We  can  liken  the  side  of  a street  to  a line  of  type. 
The  letters  need  not  be  of  precisely  the  same  height 
and  should  not  be  of  exactly  the  same  form  and 
width,  but  glaring  contrasts  will  shock  and  offend. 
A line  composed  of  such  a mingling  of  exclamation 
points  and  periods  as  might  well  stand  (with  here  and 
there  an  interrogation  inserted)  for  many  a business 
street  would  be  a total  failure  artistically.  The  same 


126 


flfrobern  Civic  art. 


would  be  true  of  a line  in  which  colours  were  hope- 
lessly jumbled.  Some  regularity,  then,  in  skyline 
and  in  lines  of  balcony  and  cornice  is  desirable,  with 
a harmony  of  tint.  The  pauses,  however,  will  be 
clearly  marked.  These  are  the  accents  of  the  street. 

There  ought  to  be  an  established  maximum  of 
height  above  which  no  edifice  shall  rise.  A defeat 
of  efforts  to  establish  such  a limit  can  be  due  only  to 
the  strength  of  private  interests.  The  larger,  public 
interest  is  altogether  in  favour  of  the  restriction.  Any 
extensive  construction  of  tall  buildings  inevitably 
leads  on  narrow  thoroughfares  to  a street  congestion 
so  unbearable  that  remedies  must  be  had  and  these 
remedies  will  be  extremely  costly.  The  restriction  is 
required,  then,  (i)  for  the  street’s  sake,  from  various 
points  of  view;  (2)  for  the  building’s  own  sake,  since, 
the  ground  area  being  limited,  there  is  a height  at 
which  the  proportions  cease  to  be  pleasant;  (3)  for 
the  protection  of  every  meritorious  structure  so  that 
a neighbour,  towering  immensely  higher,  may  not 
dwarf  it.  The  first  requirement  is  made  the  basis  of 
the  familiar  building  statute  in  European  cities,  which 
proportions  to  the  width  of  the  thoroughfare  the 
height  of  the  structures  bordering  upon  it,  with  a 
designated  maximum  limit  — moderately  increased, 
sometimes,  of  course,  where  the  street  widens  into 
a plaza.1  The  second  requirement  is  in  the  heart  of 
the  architect,  but  save  in  buildings  of  exceptional 

1 A similar  ordinance  is  occasionally  found  in  the  United  States  — as  in  St. 
Louis,  for  example. 


architecture  in  tbe  Business  District.  127 

artistic  character  or  in  public  structures  may  not 
have  expression.  The  third  requirement  is  embodied 
in  occasional  local  legislation,  of  which  the  special 
building  regulations  enacted  for  Copley  Square  in 
Boston  — that  a tall  apartment  house  should  not 
dwarf,  as  projected,  the  existing  examples  of  beauti- 
ful architecture — is  a notable  illustration. 

Equally  desirable,  and  for  similar  reasons,  is  the 
establishment  of  a minimum  building  height  for  any 
given  street,  and  this  need  also  is  recognised  by 
statute  in  Europe.  In  fact,  it  has  been  seriously  sug- 
gested in  London  that  when  a new  street  is  planned 
it  were  well  for  the  committee  of  the  County  Council^ 
when  formulating  the  proposal,  to  invite  the  views 
of  leading  architects  and  engineers,  and  on  their 
recommendations  to  draw  up  a general  scheme  pro- 
viding for  the  principal  feature  of  the  building  eleva- 
tions. In  due  time  the  avenue  would  then  have  not 
only  convenience  but  dignity  and  beauty.  If  this 
were  done,  not  in  London  only  but  wherever  new 
streets  are  planned  for  commercial  districts,  the  pro- 
gress of  contemporary  civic  art  would  be  more 
striking. 

That  the  greater  height  of  building,  made  possi- 
ble by  the  modern  method  of  steel  construction,  will 
in  itself  add  much  to  the  imposing  character  of  the 
business  district,  to  its  seeming  importance,  solidity, 
and  impressiveness,  if  it  be  so  curbed  and  regulated 
that  there  is  a degree  of  uniformity  in  the  rise  of  the 
building  level,  scarcely  needs  a saying.  Between  a 


128 


flfcobern  Civic  art. 


street  forty  feet  wide  lined  with  low  brick  or  stucco 
structures,  and  a thoroughfare  eighty  feet  wide  with 
a border  of  modern  commercial  buildings,  there  is  no 
comparison,  as  far  as  strictly  urban  effectiveness 
goes.  But  everything  must  be  in  scale.  The  ten- 
and  eleven-story  buildings  that  make  a striking 
group  around  the  Old  Granary  Burial  Ground  in 
Boston,  where  the  law  has  limited  building  heights 
to  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet,  would  lose 
their  impressiveness  in  New  York.  There  the  inter- 
polated twenty-story  structures  would  dwarf  them. 
“Sky-scrapers,”  however,  which  rise  from  two 
hundred  to  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  are  necessarily 
scattered,  if  only  to  protect  their  own  light.  They 
establish  a standard  to  which  there  cannot  be  uni- 
form adherence,  and  the  failures  to  adhere  to  it  look 
puny.  So  there  is  lost  all  that  impressiveness  which 
comes  from  mere  order  and  regularity,  while  elsewhere 
lower  structures  lose  nothing  of  seeming  importance 
if  there  be  no  higher  by  which  to  measure  them. 

Regarding  the  size  of  buildings,  and  especially 
their  height,  there  is,  too,  another  thing  to  be  ob- 
served. This  is  the  proportion  to  be  maintained  with 
respect  to  the  vista  in  which  they  come.  There  has 
been  note  of  the  value  of  monumental  construction 
at  focal  points.  Is  there  need  of  the  statement  that 
the  construction  should  be  adjusted  to  the  view  which 
is  afforded  from  converging  streets,  that  it  may  be 
neither  too  massive  nor  too  small  and  insignificant? 
This  will  not  be  an  easy  thing  to  adjust  by  statute. 


architecture  in  the  Business  District.  129 


It  also  must  be  in  the  heart  of  the  architect,  or,  if  the 
building  antedates  the  street,  in  the  heart  of  him  who 
plans  the  latter.  The  south  end  of  the  Treasury,  in 
Washington,  as  it  is  seen  from  the  Capitol,  has  been 
happily  cited  as  an  example.  Large  as  it  is,  it  is 
too  small  to  count  in  a view  down  the  length  of 
Pennsylvania  Avenue. 

The  conscientious  architect  will  strive  also  to 
establish  a relation  between  the  height  of  his  build- 
ing and  the  length  of  its  facade;  and  if  his  building 
is  at  a topographical  axis  or  centre,  where  promin- 
ence is  thrust  upon  it  and  large  size  is  excusable,  if 
not  indeed  required,  he  will  see  to  it  that  the  struct- 
ure shall  still  form  a definite  composition  with  its 
neighbours.  Finally  he  will  try  to  put  into  the 
appearance  of  the  building  something  of  appropriate- 
ness to  its  purpose,  to  its  location,  and  its  architect- 
ural period.  When  old  London  Bridge  was  demolished 
and  a new  one  made,  there  was  wisely  planned  a 
broad  approach  on  the  Southwark  side.  High  Street 
at  that  time  was  rich  in  pointed  gables,  florid  plaster 
work,  diamond  casements,  and  half-timbered  over- 
hanging stories.  These  picturesque  features  were 
swept  away  with  the  broad  approach ; there  followed 
a line  of  monotonous  brick  fronts  — genuine,  if 
homely  — and  then  these  were  superseded  by  a row 
of  “Grecian  and  Italianised  fafades”  that  in  South- 
wark could  have  no  meaning  beyond  a homesick 
dream  or  silly  imitation.  Civic  art  is  in  the  broad 
approach  and  the  clearing  out  of  unsanitary  rookeries; 

9 


flfcofcein  Civic  Hit. 


130 

but  there  goes  with  it  such  a loss,  also  of  civic  art,  in 
the  style  of  building  which  has  succeeded,  that  the 
beholder  does  not  readily  appreciate  the  existence  of 
a net  advantage.  These  are  not,  however,  matters 
readily  reached  by  law,  unless  there  be  established  a 
commission  to  pass  upon  the  artistic  features  of  the 
plan  of  every  projected  building  as  certainly  as  upon 
its  sanitation.  But  the  thoughts  emphasise  the 
many  obligations  of  the  architect,  and  civic  art’s  great 
dependence  on  him. 

In  that  remodelling  of  cities  which  new  condi- 
tions make  so  conspicuous  a feature  in  modern  urban 
development  and  which  is  a potent  stimulus  to 
municipal  aesthetics,  it  must  often  happen  that  in 
the  older  communities  the  location  of  a new  street 
might  endanger  some  building  of  historical  or 
architectural  interest.  But  the  charm  of  a street  is 
not  dependent  on  newness.  Historical  interest  is 
not  to  be  lightly  ignored  and  beauty  is  ever  fresh. 
The  special  committee  of  the  London  County  Council, 
which  in  such  cases  is  charged  to  consider  and  re- 
port on  the  course  of  action  to  be  taken;  the  com- 
missions of  experts  to  which  these  matters  are 
relegated  in  French  cities;  the  zealous  official  guard- 
ianship in  Italy,  Belgium,  and  Germany, — all  this 
shows  that  the  European  cities  which  have  had  long 
experience,  and  where  such  opportunities  come  with 
more  frequency  than  in  America,  value  highly  the 
chance  thus  given  to  secure  or  preserve  picturesque- 
ness, variety,  interest,  and  assured  structural  beauty 


architecture  in  tbe  ^Business  District.  131 


on  the  street.  Modern  civic  art  would  not  be  all 
modern  in  its  expression.  It  is  no  iconoclast  where 
beauty  is  concerned.  And  therein  is  one  secret  of 
its  power.  Speaking  merely  from  the  architectural 
standpoint,  it  would  draw  gladly  on  the  treasures  of 
the  ever  lengthening  past. 

At  the  same  time,  every  effort  must  be  made  to 
render  the  present  and  future  worthy  of  the  best 
remnants  of  the  past.  In'  France  and  Belgium,  which 
to-day  are  leaders  in  the  more  decoratively  aesthetic 
features  of  modern  civic  art,  municipalities  offer 
prizes  for  the  most  beautiful  fafades.  In  Paris  these, 
prizes  go  to  owner,  builder,  and  architect,  the  former 
being  exempted  from  half  of  his  street  tax  and  the 
two  latter  receiving  highly  cherished  medals.  So  in 
the  new  conception  of  the  city  beautiful  is  impressed 
the  lesson  of  obligation  to  the  community,  the  re- 
minder that  good  taste  — love  of  beauty  and  ability 
to  gratify  it  — should  not  be  so  selfish  as  to  hide  a 
lovely  or  splendid  interior  behind  a plain  exterior, 
and  that  to  the  city  which  has  made  possible  a hand- 
some street  something  in  its  turn  is  owing  in  a visi- 
ble contribution  to  the  general  weal.  It  is  not  safe 
to  leave  all  this  to  the  results  of  individual  rivalry. 
The  facades,  so  long  monotonous,  in  New  York  and 
Philadelphia,  and  the  homely  fronts  and  high  garden 
walls  that  often  hide  beautiful  interiors  in  England, 
show  the  folly  of  so  doing.  It  is  proved  again  in 
the  familiar  custom  of  the  individual,  when  leasing 
or  selling  part  of  a tract,  to  require  that  a certain 


flDo&ern  Civic  art. 


minimum  sum  shall  be  represented  in  the  exterior  of 
the  building  to  be  erected.  Once  such  rivalry  has, 
by  artificial  means,  been  started,  there  is  needed  no 
great  spur  to  keep  it  active,  but  rather  that  artistic 
guidance  and  control  which  can  be  given  in  the 
building  regulations. 

In  the  business  portions  of  a city  the  effects  that 
are  desired  are  rather  those  which  can  be  called 
“stunning”  than  those  dependent  on  the  fineness 
and  niceness  of  delicate  design.  In  the  business 
street  there  is  inevitably  much  that  is  bizarre,  blatant, 
and  distracting.  It  is,  further,  the  very  purpose  of 
the  business  house  to  attract  attention,  and  civic  art 
has  something  to  be  grateful  for  when,  instead  of 
making  use  of  hideous  advertisements,  or  striking 
colour,  or  great  height,  or  sudden  littleness  in  a wil- 
derness of  “sky-scrapers,”  the  dependence  for  effect 
is  placed  on  the  dignity  of  the  building’s  appearance, 
on  the  majesty  of  its  proportions,  on  the  impressive- 
ness of  its  architectural  treatment.  That  is  why 
“stunning  effect”  can  properly  be  desired  in  the 
structures  of  the  business  district. 

For  the  topographical  conditions  that  most  favour 
the  attainment  of  this  effect  there  is  more  and  more 
demand.  The  public  buildings  cannot  well  vie  in 
height  with  commercial  structures,  they  cannot  ap- 
propriately attract  attention  by  their  diminutiveness, 
and  even  a dormant  public  spirit  would  awake  in 
protest  were  it  sought  to  attract  attention  to  such 
structures  by  vivid  colours  or  great  signs.  Hardly 


Hrcbitecture  in  tbe  Business  district.  133 


less  marked  than  this  need  by  the  public  buildings  is 
the  need,  for  similar  reasons,  by  the  banks,  by  the 
clubs,  by  the  homes  of  the  exchanges  and  commerc- 
ial bodies,  by  institutions  financial,  educational,  and 
benevolent.1  The  greater  the  city  becomes  the  more 
urgent  is  the  demand  for  topographical  conditions 
advantageous  to  architectural  effect.  The  result  of 
the  demand,  the  available  number  of  such  positions 
being  limited,  must  be  their  rapid  pre-emption  by 
this  class  of  structure  and  their  increasingly  worthy 
development.  That  an  occupation  of  such  sites  by 
handsome  buildings  means  much  for  the  aspect  of  the 
town,  there  is  no  need  of  saying.  It  means  so  mucht 
that  we  must  provide  many  lots  of  this  character 
with  the  certainty  that,  if  so  abundant  as  to  be  avail- 
able at  last  by  even  commercial  structures,  such  op- 
portunities will  be  offered  to  these  that  many  even 
of  them  will  seek  their  effectiveness  by  artistic 
means. 

It  has  been  pointed  out  that  the  ample  provision 
of  favourable  sites  is  one  of  the  merits  of  a diagonal 
street  plan.  It  should  here  be  said  that  where  there 


1 Good  illustrations  of  the  want  of  such  sites  are  afforded  by  the  important 
buildings  that  now  line  narrow  Chancery  Lane  in  London,  or  by  the  situation  of  the 
new  Chamber  of  Commerce  and  the  new  Stock  Exchange  in  New  York.  Of  the 
latter  Russell  Sturgis  has  said,  in  an  article  in  the  International  Quarterly  (December, 
1902):  “ There  is  a building  in  which  for  purposes  of  utility  the  most  has  been 
made  of  a lot  really  too  small  for  its  purpose.  ...  No  courtyard,  whether 
of  entrance  ( cour  d ’ honneur ) nor  yet  central  and  surrounded  by  buildings  to  which 
it  gives  light,  no  showing  in  any  one  direction  of  the  whole  building  or  of  any  large 
mass  of  it, — two  facades  on  two  parallel  streets,  and  nothing  else  ! ” Yet  this  costly 
and  beautiful  structure  is  in  its  design  one  of  the  most  ambitiously  decorative  in 
New  York,  and  it  fails  of  its  full  purpose  mainly  because  of  the  poor  chance  to  see  it. 


134 


flDo&ern  Civic  art. 


are  no  open  spaces  or  advantageously  placed  corners, 
architecture  may  yet  discover  opportunities.  In 
seeking  these  it  will  value  the  broad,  curving  street, 
and  in  itself — as  an  art  — will  find  no  fault  with 
grade.  Approaches,  also,  count  strongly  with  a 
building.  The  thing  most  to  be  dreaded  is  the  nar- 
row, straight  street,  with  rectangular  crossings  and 
every  block  alike  in  size  and  given  over  to  building. 
That  condition  is  thoroughly  discouraging. 

There  may  once  have  been  some  reason  for  a 
notion  that  the  cities  of  a democracy  could  be  hum- 
drum in  their  business  districts.  Unless  we  imagine 
such  an  idea,  how  shall  we  account  for  the  failure  to 
provide  noble  sites  when  the  plans  of  the  new  cities 
of  America  were  laid  down  on  paper  ? There  must 
have  been  a well-nigh  universal  thought  that  the 
splendour  of  empire  and  monarchy  being  over,  the 
need  of  palaces  and  of  provision  for  pageantry  hav- 
ing passed,  and  a people  having  settled  down  con- 
tent to  be  tradesmen  without  an  “ upper  class,”  there 
would  be,  in  the  parts  of  the  town  where  they  did 
their  business  and  with  entire  equality  earned  their 
livings,  no  need  to  have  one  street  differ  from 
another  — save  as  volume  of  travel  might  require 
greater  or  lesser  width.  But  if  that  idea  was  ever 
held,  the  time  has  gone  when  it  could  be  seriously 
put  forward  or  supported  from  facts. 

The  fast  increasing  wealth  of  the  United  States  is 
reflected  nowhere  more  strikingly  than  in  the  grow- 
ing splendour  of  city  structures,  and  naturally  so 


architecture  in  tbe  Business  District.  135 

since  toward  the  cities  is  the  strongly  marked  trend 
of  population,  and  they  must  be  always  the  financial 
centres.  In  them,  too,  there  must  be  massed,  in  a 
congestion  eminently  spectacular,  those  evidences 
of  riches,  luxury,  and  aspiration  that,  if  widely  scat- 
tered, might  mean  as  much,  but  would  prove  far  less 
striking.  When  we  think  that  in  a single  city,  for 
example, — within  a space  that  may  be  traversed  by 
rapid-transit  in  half  an  hour, — there  are  congregated 
such  evidences  of  financial  wealth  as  the  new  Stock 
Exchange  in  New  York,  of  commercial  precedence  as 
the  new  Chamber  of  Commerce,  of  shipping  import- 
ance as  the  noble  new  Custom  House,  of  business 
resources  as  afforded  by  such  private  structures  as 
the  Equitable  Life  building  with  its  wonderful  mar- 
bles, of  ecclesiastical  welfare  as  Trinity  Church,  St. 
Thomas’s,  St.  Patrick’s  Cathedral,  and  the  Cathedral 
of  St.  John  the  Divine,  of  magnetic  power  to  wealthy 
transients  as  offered  by  a dozen  palatial  hotels,  of 
private  fortune  as  shown  by  the  splendour  of  in- 
numerable individual  homes,  of  the  ability  to  gratify 
aspirations  in  art  as  revealed  by  the  Metropolitan 
Museum  and  its  noble  housing,  or  educational  aspir- 
ations as  shown  by  the  Public  Library  and  the  build- 
ings of  Columbia  University,  or  the  yearnings  of 
philanthropy  as  shown  in  St.  Luke’s  Hospital,  or  of 
patriotism  as  indicated  by  the  Soldiers’  and  Sailors’ 
Memorial  or  the  Grant  Monument,  when  — to  name 
a very  few  illustrations  of  a very  few  types  — there 
are  congregated  in  small  compass  such  a variety  of 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


136 

noble  structures,  structures  at  least  upon  which  the 
artistic  genius  of  the  day  has  been  lavishly  expended 
and  from  which  money  has  not  been  withheld,  it  is 
clear  that  cities  cannot  be,  as  they  never  have  been, 
humdrum.  They  make  demand  for  a supply  of  com- 
manding sites  and,  these  afforded,  there  will  be  raised 
structures  of  a pretentiousness  and  straining  for  effect 
that  will  insure  variety,  and  of  a significance  that 
will  guarantee  the  interest  of  the  way. 

Nor  has  modern  civic  art  occasion  to  fear  lest 
these  buildings  offer  to  the  architect,  in  purpose  and 
requirement,  less  opportunity  or  inspiration  than  did 
their  prototypes  of  the  golden  days  of  earlier  civilisa- 
tions. There  were  never  any  cities  larger  than  those 
of  the  present  time,  there  was  rarely  such  wealth 
massed  in  them  as  to-day,  there  was  never  before  so 
long  a past  from  which  to  draw  the  lessons  of  ex- 
perience, and  never  a people  so  familiar  with  that 
past.  There  was  never  so  broad  a world  to  be  ran- 
sacked for  treasures  as  we  have  now,  never  so  wide 
a held  from  which  to  select  genius,  never  such  a con- 
course of  spectators  as  in  this  travelling  time  from 
which  to  win  applause  or  condemnation.  Now  that 
we  have  suddenly  turned  our  thoughts  in  this  direct- 
ion, there  is  not  lacking  the  spur  to  great  achieve- 
ment. Of  all  the  huge  buildings  in  the  United  States 
there  is  not  one  as  large  as  a certain  city  hall,  with 
its  nearly  five  thousand  tenants;  and  of  all  the  beau- 
tiful buildings  nine  out  of  the  ten  that  have  been  ad- 
judged the  loveliest  are  public  structures.  The  vast 


Architecture  in  tbe  Business  district  137 


city  hall  happens  to  have  little  of  art  about  it,  but 
the  opportunity  it  offered  was  magnificent.  The 
great  cities,  now  so  rapidly  re-building,  teem  with 
architectural  chances;  the  most  favourable  sites  com- 
mand highest  prices;  and  civic  art  is  working  at  no 
problem  with  such  eagerness,  with  such  assurance 
of  immediately  transforming  results,  as  at  the  re- 
construction of  cities  in  the  new  housing  of  their 
activities. 

The  need  of  to-day  is  not  so  much  to  incite  as 
wisely  to  restrain,  pointing  out  that  in  the  long  run 
the  height  that  most  counts  in  a building  is  the 
height  of  the  architect’s  ideal;  the  richness,  that  0^ 
his  fancy;  the  solidity,  that  of  his  self-restraint.  The 
need  is  that  he  should  realise  that  his  problem  is  not 
that  of  a building  only,  but  of  a city. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  FURNISHINGS  OF  THE  STREET. 

A STREET  consists  of  more  than  a passage 
cleared  for  travel  with  a line  of  building 
lots  on  either  side.  Although  assuming,  as 
modern  civic  art  does,  a good  pavement,  even  curbs, 
well-laid  walks,  and  an  absence  of  overhead  wires, 
with  pavement  and  walk  kept  clean,  there  still  re- 
main other  factors  to  mar  the  prospect  or  to  adorn 
it.  These  are  the  street  furnishings  — details,  in- 
deed, but  in  as  far  as  civic  art  is  art  it  does  not  dare 
to  scorn  them.  Rather,  it  will  expend  upon  them 
that  loving  care,  that  fond  attention,  which  art  must 
ever  give  to  the  particulars  which  fill  in  and  complete 
the  picture  after  the  main  lines  have  been  laid  down 
and  the  dominating  features  are  established.  As  furn- 
ishings of  the  business  street,  we  may  include  the 
necessary  lighting  apparatus;  the  street  name  signs 
and  post  boxes  that  add  so  much  to  the  convenience 
of  the  way;  those  isles  of  safety  that  are  almost  an 
essential  at  busy  crossings;  the  public-comfort  sta- 

i3s 


Gbe  jfunnsbings  of  tbe  Street.  139 

tions,  in  so  far  as  they  are  visible;  the  fire-alarm 
signal  boxes;  the  trolley  poles,  if  the  overhead  sys- 
tem be  in  operation;  and,  finally,  those  innumerable 
and  variegated  advertisements  with  which  business 
placards  the  way. 

The  opportunity  is  urgent,  broad,  and  varied.  It 
is  independent  of  merit  or  demerit  in  the  street  plan 
or  in  the  construction  at  the  street’s  edge.  It  may, 
if  ably  handled,  do  much  to  adorn  a street  noble  in 
lines  and  splendid  in  edifices,  but  it  is  not  the  less 
pressing  where  conditions  are  unfavourable.  The 
problem  is,  also, — we  should  note, — strictly  modern. 
With  the  street  plan  and  the  construction  at  the 
building  line,  the  civic  art  of  the  earliest  civilisations 
had  to  deal.  With  the  furnishings  of  the  street,  as 
this  term  is  understood  to-day,  it  had  no  concern. 

An  interesting  illustration  of  the  gradually  de- 
veloped necessity  of  our  street  furnishings,  and  the 
evolution  of  their  present  type,  is  found  in  the  light- 
ing apparatus.  This  might  well  have  been,  one 
would  think,  a problem  of  the  earliest  cities.  Yet  in 
the  beginning  it  was  considered  a private  rather 
than  a public  matter.  In  the  civic  Renaissance  of 
Italy,  for  instance,  the  street  lighting  was  left  to  the 
facades  of  the  abutting  structures;  and  how  well  the 
problem,  when  thus  changed,  could  be  handled,  that 
ancient  civic  art  now  discloses  in  the  lanterns  of  the 
Strozzi  Palace  at  Florence.  But  the  thought  of  light- 
ing cities  had  already  Deen  long  postponed  through 
the  fact  that  those  who  had  to  see  their  way  at  night 


mo  fl>obern  Civic  art. 

were  individuals,  not  the  masses.  Nor  is  it  strange, 
since  every  lamp  required  separate  care  before  it  could 
be  lighted,  that  when,  at  last,  their  provision  in  the 
street  could  be  conceived  as  a civic  duty,  lights  were 
still  made  individual  charges.  If  the  individual 
pleased  to  shirk  so  publicly  his  obligation  to  the  com- 
munity (newly  conceived  as  that  duty  was),  street 
lamps  were  omitted  altogether. 

Mankind  began,  we  should  remark,  by  staying 
home  at  nights,  taking  the  hint  that  darkness  meant 
that  day  was  over;  and  if  his  duty  or  his  pleasure 
did  take  him  forth,  he  went  at  his  own  risk  and  car- 
ried, as  he  still  carries  in  the  country,  his  own  light. 
The  notion  that  the  street  before  his  door  might  be 
kept  lighted,  for  his  own  convenience  when  he  went 
abroad  and  at  other  times  for  the  profit  of  his  prowl- 
ing neighbours,  came,  then,  very  slowly,  and  it 
might  have  been  yet  longer  in  arriving  if  there  had 
not  been  perception  that  the  fixture  for  the  light 
could  be  made  a highly  decorative  feature  of  the 
house.  So,  quite  like  the  balcony,  ornamental  as 
well  as  useful,  the  street  lights  were  left  to  the  mercy 
of  the  builders,  and  civic  art,  as  civic,  took  little  heed 
of  them. 

The  public  function  of  the  lights  was  slowly 
appreciated  better  as  their  number  multiplied,  and 
when  it  became  possible  to  lay  gas  mains  through 
the  streets  and  so  to  keep  all  the  lamps  simul- 
taneously in  readiness  for  lighting  — which  now 
required  only  a touch  of  flame  — the  city  could  ap- 


Sbc  jfurnisbtngs  of  tbe  Street.  h* 

propriately  and  conveniently  take  charge  by  contract 
of  the  lighting  of  its  streets,  henceforth  to  run  no 
risk  of  individual  delinquencies.  The  manifold  ad- 
vantages were  apparent;  and  the  oil  lamp,  though 
less  convenient  to  manage  than  the  gas  lamp,  was 
similarly  made  a street  furnishing,  and  was  cared  for 
indirectly  if  not  directly  by  employees  of  the  town. 
By  the  time  that  modern  civic  art  began,  oil  lamps 
were  considered  no  more  than  temporary  make- 
shifts, abandoned,  for  the  most  part,  to  outlying  and 
sparsely  settled  portions  of  cities,  or  to  small  vil- 
lages. The  new  art  felt  little  call  to  give  thought  to 
them,  and  it  was  just  turning  its  attention  to  gas 
lights  when  electricity  appeared.  For  this  reason 
its  conquests  in  gas  fixtures,  though  here  and  there 
important,  are  yet  so  widely  scattered  that  the  gas 
lamp  of  the  city  street  is  still  usually  ugly  — multi- 
plied by  tens  of  thousands  in  the  strictly  utilitarian 
shape  in  which  it  first  came  from  the  factory.  The 
electric  light  required  such  an  entirely  different  kind 
of  apparatus  as  in  its  turn  to  present  a new  problem, 
and  civic  art  is  but  just  finding  time  seriously  to 
consider  its  artistic  possibility. 

As  to  the  gas  lamps,  which  must  still  be  con- 
sidered, the  candelabra  of  Paris,  arranged  for  single, 
double,  or  grouped  lights,  are  probably  the  best. 
Naturally  the  open  spaces,  the  showy  and  more 
decorative  parts  of  a city,  have  first  attention  in 
efforts  to  bring  beauty  into  street  utilities,  and  we 
find  no  examples  in  Paris  more  elaborate  and  ornate 


142 


J1>0t>ern  GMc  Hrt. 


than  the  fixtures  on  the  Place  de  la  Concorde.  In 
Brussels  — the  “little  Paris”  in  so  many  things  — a 
prize  offered  by  L’QEuvre  Nationale  Beige  early  in  its 
career  was  for  an  artistic  street  light,  and  was 
awarded  to  the  designer  of  a single  candelabrum  to 
stand  on  the  Place  de  la  Monnaie,  where  it  was 
subsequently  erected. 

The  terms  of  this  competition,  conducted  by  a 
national  society  organised  for  the  furthering  of 
civic  art,  had  invited  the  municipalities  to  “desig- 
nate those  public  places  ” which  it  was  desired  to 
light  artistically.  A long  step  in  advance  was  made 
by  such  recognition  that  the  site  and  apparatus  had 
a relation,  that  the  kind  of  fixture  which  would  be 
beautiful  and  artistic  in  one  location  might  fail  in 
another  because  no  longer  in  harmony  with  its  sur- 
roundings or  proportioned  to  its  position.  This  was 
a new  idea.  If  there  had  been  any  thought  of  bring- 
ing beauty  into  the  lighting  apparatus,  it  had  hereto- 
fore contented  itself  with  a desire  for  a better  design 
which  should  be  universally  adopted  as  far  as  any 
particular  town  was  concerned.  Perhaps  even  this 
new  expression  of  an  old  art  truth,  that  particular 
environments  demand  particular  treatment,  owed 
something  to  an  economic  condition.  Certainly  a 
costlier  fixture  was  more  likely  to  be  adopted  for  a 
showy  square,  where  a few  examples  could  be  con- 
spicuously fixed,  than  on  the  streets,  where  a great 
number  would  be  needed  and  comparatively  little 
noticed,  once  their  striking  ugliness  were  removed. 


£bc  tfunusbings  of  tbe  Street.  H3 

To  secure,  then,  for  the  open  spaces  of  the  town 
especially  made  designs,  that  shall  fit  with  cer- 
tainty into  their  location;  to  secure  for  the  business 
streets  a design  of  lighting  post  that  shall  be  at  least 
correct  in  its  proportions,  appropriate  in  its  style, 
and  graceful  in  its  lines,  and  its  universal  adoption 
on  those  streets;  and  then  to  secure  for  the  resi- 
dential streets  a third  and  perhaps  a fourth  design, 
altered  to  suit  the  new  environments, — that  is  am- 
bition enough  for  most  developments  of  modern 
civic  art.  Nor  does  such  a possibility  fall  far  short 
of  the  ideal.  For  such  is  the  formality  of  a city 
street  in  the  essential  evenness  of  its  lines  that  regu- 
larly recurring  light  fixtures  may  properly  have  a 
formal  likeness  of  pattern  in  a given  portion  of  the 
town  where  surrounding  conditions  are  similar.  If 
alike  graceful  and  sufficiently  conspicuous  they  will 
not  unpleasantly  emphasise  the  formality  of  the 
business  street,  while  the  break  that  is  made  by  the 
open  space  will  be,  in  turn,  the  more  strongly 
marked  by  the  adoption  of  a different  and  here  better- 
suited  style  of  apparatus. 

It  is  natural,  as  noted,  that  the  beginnings  of 
civic  art  should  be  characterised  by  efforts  to  secure 
the  beauty  of  the  exceptional,  but  particularly  notice- 
able, light  rather  than  of  the  ordinary.  In  New 
York,  the  resuscitated  Municipal  Art  Society,  desir- 
ing to  do  a popular  thing, — which  was  to  say  a 
practical  and  conspicuous  thing, — announced  early  in 
1902  a competition  for  an  electrolier  to  be  placed  at 


144 


fIDobern  Civic  art. 


the  edge  of  one  of  the  most  important  open  spaces 
of  the  city  — the  intersection  of  Fifth  Avenue  and 
Twenty -third  Street.  This  particular  electrolier  was 
to  be  combined  with  an  isle  of  safety,  there  greatly 
needed ; but  for  the  present  it  is  enough  to  note 
that  the  first  undertaking  was  an  attempted  decor- 
ation of  the  street  by  providing  a beautiful  utility,  and 
that  the  utility  chosen  was  the  lighting  apparatus  at 
a notable  point.  The  competition  aroused  much  at- 
tention, both  among  artists  and  laymen  ; and  of 
the  three  designs  for  which  prizes  were  awarded, 
one  at  least  was  commonly  considered  to  be  very 
good.  The  event’s  art  significance,  however,  lay 
not  so  much  in  the  victory  there  gained  as  in  the 
grappling  of  the  problem,  in  the  elaborate  effort  to 
obtain  beauty  in  a public  lighting  fixture.  The  stu- 
dent of  civic  art  cannot  fail  to  be  interested  in  this 
occurrence.  In  what  other  period  in  the  history  of 
the  world  have  private  citizens  banded  together  and 
contributed  money  that  a light  fixture  on  a street 
might  be  beautiful  ? 

And  yet  the  student,  looking  closely,  must  won- 
der whether  the  development  has  reached  its  end, 
whether  civic  art  will  not  progress  beyond  the  need 
of  any  fixture  for  street  lights ; whether,  to  be  ex- 
plicit, the  uprights,  though  they  be  ever  so  orna- 
mental, are  not  as  distinct  a transition  phase  as  is 
the  old  wooden  post  of  the  oil  lamp,  even  when  the 
village  improvers  paint  it  green.  For  now  there  is 
hardly  a lovelier  picture  on  earth  than  the  night 


She  3furnisbinQ6  of  the  Street.  145 

view  of  a great  city  — its  thousands  of  lights  twink- 
ling in  a mighty  constellation.  Here  is  a firmament 
comprehensible  because  earthbound,  but  not  the  less 
marvellous  for  that.  Its  stars  sing  together,  and  their 
song  is  of  the  might  of  ourselves.  The  little  heaven 
is  rolled  out  before  us,  as  a scroll.  We  know  its 
lines  well,  we  can  read  in  our  hearts  the  possible 
meaning  of  every  star.  Their  very  number  is  writ- 
ten. And  the  myriad  lights  have  such  beauty,  inde- 
pendent of  sentiment,  that  their  effect  has  sunk  deep 
in  the  hearts  of  men.  We  would  make  our  exposi- 
tions lovely;  and  lo!  with  the  new-found  power  of 
electricity  we  print  on  the  darkness  in  miniature  the 
glow  of  a city’s  lights.  Ever  as  our  mastery  of 
electricity  becomes  completer,  the  picture  is  made 
lovelier  by  multiplying  lights.  The  roofs,  bases,  and 
corners  of  buildings  are  outlined  with  them.  Every 
cornice,  balcony,  pinnacle,  glows.  The  darkness  of 
night  is  turned  to  the  brightness  of  day,  with  the 
addition  of  a fairyland  of  mystery.  The  streets  of 
the  exposition  are  bright  almost  as  in  sunshine. 

The  wonder  of  the  display  and  the  ease  with 
which  it  is  gained  make  an  impression.  The  cities 
begin  to  have  buildings  outlined  in  hundreds  of 
lights.  Here  and  there  a dome  hangs  in  the  sky  as 
if  pinned  there  with  golden  pins.  The  strands  of  a 
great  bridge  hang  like  a necklace  of  brilliants.  A 
cross  of  fire  among  the  stars  means  that  a city’s 
church  spire  there  points  heavenward.  It  becomes 
necessary  to  enact  legislation  prohibiting  a barbarous 

IO 


146 


flDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


use  of  lights.  The  business  streets  nightly  blaze 
with  them,  as  never  for  a festival  a few  years  since. 
And  civic  art  ? Does  it  wrestle  still  with  the  problem 
of  separate  fixtures,  placed  at  regular  intervals,  occu- 
pying precious  space  and  costing  much  ? Has  it 
no  dreams  of  lighting  the  business  parts  of  cities  as 
expositions  have  been  successfully  lighted  ? It  is 
doubtful  if  a harmonious  genera!  scheme  of  such 
illumination  would  cost  more  than  is  now  expended 
privately  on  the  shopping  streets.  Certainly  it 
would  cost  no  more  than  the  total  of  the  public  and 
private  lighting  together ; and  into  what  a scene  of 
beauty  and  enchantment  the  business  district  would 
be  then  transformed  at  night!  May  not  this  be  the 
near  solution  of  the  lighting  problem  in  that  city 
beautiful  which  is  the  dream  of  civic  art  ? 

Already,  sections  of  cities  have  been  turned  into 
such  fairylands  for  gala  nights.  The  illumination  of 
the  “ Court  of  Honour”  in  Philadelphia,  at  the  Peace 
Jubilee  in  1898,  when  to  a section  of  a business 
street  there  was  given  the  night  glory  of  an  exposi- 
tion ; the  transformation  of  seven  blocks  of  State 
Street  in  Chicago  for  the  Fall  Festival  of  1899,  when 
eleven  thousand  electric  lights  and  nearly  four  hun- 
dred flambeaux  flung  their  radiance  on  the  street ; 
the  lighting  of  the  public  buildings  and  boulevards 
of  Paris  for  the  fete  of  July  14th,  in  1900;  the  il- 
lumination of  Monument  Square  in  Cleveland  for  the 
Grand  Army  of  the  Republic  encampment  in  1901  ; 
and  the  lighting  of  a district  of  San  Francisco,  in 


Gbe  jfurnisbinos  of  tbc  Street.  H7 

honour  of  a gathering  of  Knights  of  Pythias  in 
1902,  when  eighteen  thousand  two  hundred  electric 
lights  were  used  on  the  few  blocks  of  the  chosen 
area,  exclusive  of  the  lamps  that  outlined  the  colon- 
ades  and  dome  of  the  City  Hall,  the  high  tower  of 
the  Ferry  building,  and  a great  commercial  structure, 
— these  are  typical  actual  applications  of  the  new 
lighting  plan  in  cities,  showing  its  feasibility,  its 
popularity,  and  its  aesthetic  merits.  Merchants,  per- 
ceiving the  commercial  advantages  of  a district 
especially  attractive  because  of  its  night  beauty,  will 
do  well  to  combine  to  the  end  that  by  co-operation 
such  radiance  as  now  floods  parts  of  Broadway,  in 
New  York,  for  example,  may  be  made  harmonious 
and  lovely  instead  of  glaring  and  crude. 

The  Municipal  Art  Society  of  New  York  in  an- 
nouncing its  competition  for  an  artistic  electrolier, 
required  that  it  should  be  fixed  upon  an  “isle  of 
safety”  — by  which  is  meant  a raised  platform  of 
refuge  where  the  hunted  pedestrian  may  take  breath 
in  crossing  the  crowded  road.  It  is  easy  to  imagine 
such  a platform  without  a lighting  fixture,  but  one 
will  be  rarely  found.  Both  the  location  and  the 
purpose  invite  the  fixing  of  one  or  more  lights  upon 
it.  Raised  but  a few  inches  above  the  pavement,  it 
is  necessary  that  there  be  erected  here  something  of 
sufficient  height  to  be  seen  at  a distance,  for  there  is 
not  only  the  danger  otherwise  of  driving  upon  it, 
but  one  of  its  purposes  is  to  divide  the  travel  into 
distinct  streams  of  opposite  direction.  As  the  need 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


148 

of  seeing  the  tall  structure  is  as  great  at  night  as  by 
day,  what  more  natural  than  that  it  should  be  a 
light  ? Again,  the  pedestrian  who  has  taken  refuge 
here,  has  done  so  that  he  may  wait  a favourable 
chance  for  the  rest  of  his  journey,  so  that  the  street 
isle  should  be  not  merely  one  of  safety  but  also  one 
well  fitted  for  observation.  Finally,  the  location 
here  of  the  lighting  apparatus  removes  from  walk  or 
pavement  a fixture  that  occupied  precious  space.  It 
is  natural  and  common,  therefore,  that  lights  should 
be  found  on  the  isle  of  refuge,  and  that  civic  art 
should  make  of  the  two  structures  a single  composi- 
tion, as  the  Municipal  Art  Society  of  New  York  re- 
quired should  be  done  and  as  Paris  has  repeatedly 
done  with  success. 

In  Paris  and  other  European  cities  a clock  is  often 
added  to  the  light  on  the  refuge,  and  the  conspicu- 
ous fixture  is  also,  especially  when  at  a street  inter- 
section, an  excellent  and  appropriate  place  for  the 
street  signs.  In  all  such  cases,  the  refuge  is  the 
pedestal,  or  base,  of  one  or  more  superstructures, 
and  artistically  is  to  be  treated  not  as  a separate 
problem  but  as  a phase  or  part  of  a larger  problem. 
In  its  proportions,  however,  in  its  relations  to  the 
street  on  which  it  is,  and  in  the  curve  of  its  outline, 
the  artist  will  find  even  in  the  refuge  itself  a worthy 
subject. 

In  regard  to  street  name  signs,  we  have  here  a 
street  fixture  of  extreme  importance.  Their  position 
on  the  lighting  apparatus  of  an  isle  of  refuge,  while 


Isle  of  Safety  and  Artistic  Electrolier,  Fifth  Avenue  and  Twenty-third  Street, 
New  York.  This  construction  was  a result  of  the  Municipal  Art  Society’s  com- 
petition. 


^be  jfurntsbinss  of  tbe  Street.  149 

appropriate,  is  a comparatively  rare  event,  for  street 
name  signs  are,  or  should  be,  at  the  intersections 
of  all  streets,  and  the  isles  of  safety  even  in  large 
cities  are  few.  In  addition  to  their  number,  the  signs 
have  importance  because  it  is  essential  that  they  be 
made  conspicuous  objects  of  the  way.  They  must 
not  thrust  themselves  upon  the  traveller,  but  they 
must  be  readily  found  and  easily  understood  when 
he  sees  them.  A glance  must  suffice  to  find  and 
read  the  sign,  for  often  the  traveller  will  be  whirling 
past  his  corner  at  a rapid  rate.  They  must  be  as 
clearly  visible  by  night  as  by  day;  and,  finally,  as 
such  prominent  objects  of  the  street,  civic  art  must 
insist  that  they  have  the  aesthetic  attention  deserved. 

These  requirements  lay  down  certain  principles: 
the  street  name  signs  should  have  a regular  and  uni- 
form location  — not  necessarily  the  same  throughout 
the  urban  area,  but  always  the  same  under  the  same 
conditions.  This  will  enable  the  traveller,  perceiving 
the  character  of  his  surroundings,  to  look  at  once  to 
the  right  place  for  the  name  of  the  street.  Again,  the 
system  employed  in  conveying  the  sign’s  information 
should  be  uniform.  If  at  a given  comer  the  street 
name  should  be,  for  example,  printed  parallel  with 
the  street  named,  the  arrangement  should  be  identical 
throughout  the  community.  Finally,  the  name  must 
be  so  located  that  there  will  be  a good  light  on  it  at 
night.  This  requirement  has  suggested  making  it  a 
lamp  so  that  a light  burning  within  shall  compel  its 
message  to  be  very  plain;  and  it  has  suggested  the 


150 


flDobern  Civic  Hit. 


fixing  of  the  street  names  upon  the  regular  lighting 
apparatus  — on  the  globe,  in  the  case  of  the  gas  lamp; 
and  on  the  pole,  possibly  with  reflectors  to  draw 
rays  of  light  down  to  the  sign,  in  the  case  of  the 
electrolier.  But  this  need  would  not  interfere  with 
the  sign's  location  on  the  wall  of  a structure  built 
flush  with  the  walk,  for  the  corner  street  lights 
usually  render  such  location  perfectly  distinct  while 
it  has  the  further  advantages  of  solidity,  relative  per- 
manence, economy  of  cost  since  it  requires  no  special 
standard,  and  economy  of  precious  street  space. 
The  main  objection  to  the  location  is  the  difficulty 
in  obtaining  uniformity.  Not  only  will  the  height  of 
the  sign  vary,  but  frequently  there  will  be  no  building 
to  attach  it  to,  and  in  any  case  different  varieties  of 
architecture  will  suggest  different  styles  of  lettering, 
so  that  the  bewildered  traveller  will  not  know  exactly 
where  to  look  nor  precisely  what  to  look  for.  The 
use  by  Paris  of  illuminated  advertising  pillars,  that 
contain  also  letter  boxes,  suggests  that  the  street 
name  sign  might  be  written  here  and  the  column, 
which  is  really  a source  of  municipal  income,  be  made 
to  serve  many  useful  public  purposes  besides.  Ameri- 
can cities,  however,  are  not,  as  a rule,  ready  for  such 
municipal  business  undertakings  as  the  provision,  for 
revenue,  of  public  advertising  columns.  There  is, 
further,  the  general  objection  to  putting  the  street 
name  here,  that  it  will  lose  its  immediate  effectiveness 
in  a confusion  of  lettering. 

A need  for  new  street  name  signs  throughout  the 


ftbe  jfurntebings  of  tbe  Street.  151 

borough  of  Manhattan  in  New  York,  and  an  officially 
expressed  determination  that  the  design  adopted 
should  be  not  only  convenient  but  possessed  of  as 
much  artistic  merit  as  possible,  presented  in  1902 
an  unusual  invitation  for  experiment.  This  was 
availed  of  by  the  Municipal  Art  Society,  by  local  im- 
provement associations,  and  by  firms  and  individuals. 
Thus  a very  interesting  collection  of  designs  was 
obtained.  Of  these  it  may  be  said  that  the  most 
successful  added  the  sign  to  the  existing  lighting 
apparatus,  finding  in  the  material  of  the  latter  the 
substance  from  which  to  make  a suitable  frame.  As 
every  corner  has  its  street  lamp,  and  the  signs  may 
be  placed  at  a regular  height,  there  is  secured  that 
uniformity  of  location  which  is  so  essential.  The 
similarity,  again,  in  the  style  of  street  light  makes 
possible,  without  architectural  incongruity,  that 
likeness  in  shape,  colour,  and  size  which  is  necessary 
in  order  that  the  merest  glance  will  leave  no  uncert- 
ainty as  to  the  meaning  of  the  legend  borne.  It  was 
shown,  also,  that  it  is  possible  to  make  here  again 
a single  composition,  the  street  sign  becoming  an 
integral  part  of  the  fixture  without  losing  its  own 
identity  and  sufficient  prominence. 

Mention  of  the  municipal  advertising  columns 
opens  one  of  the  most  difficult  problems  of  street 
furnishing.  This  is  the  advertising  on  the  public 
way.  It  may  as  well  be  admitted  that  there  will  be 
advertising.  A commercial  street,  lined  with  impos- 
ing architecture,  the  facades  unmarred  by  lettering, 


152 


fIDobern  Civic  art. 


no  screaming  signs,  by  day  no  glaring  colours,  by 
night  no  flashing  advertisements,  all  dignity,  repose, 
and  self-contained  placidity, — this  would  possibly  be 
the  vision  of  the  city  ideally  fair  and  stately.  But 
modern  civic  art  is  nothing  if  not  practical.  It  would 
dismiss  such  a vision  as  unattainable,  and  perhaps  as 
not  wholly  desirable.  As  civic  art,  it  would  not 
crush  out  of  its  ideal  the  whirr  and  hum  of  traffic,  the 
exhilarating  evidences  of  nervous  energy,  enterprise, 
vigour,  and  endeavour.  It  loves  the  straining, 
striving,  competing,  as  the  most  marked  of  urban 
characteristics,  and  when  it  advocates  broad  streets 
conveniently  arranged,  it  does  this  not  to  silence  the 
bustle  of  commerce,  but  to  make  the  efforts  more 
surely  and  quickly  efficient.  So  modern  civic  art, 
coming  to  the  advertising  problem,  should  feel  not 
hostility  but  the  thrill  of  opportunity.  It  will  recog- 
nise evils  in  the  present  methods,  but  will  find  them 
the  evils  of  excess  and  unrestraint,  and  it  will  perceive 
possibilities  of  artistic  achievement  by  which  even 
the  advertising  can  be  made  to  serve  the  ends  of  art 
dans  la  rue. 

The  first  duty  would  be,  doubtless,  to  curb  unre- 
straint and  to  check,  so  far  as  might  be,  excessiveness. 
The  street  at  least  civic  art  can  claim  as  its  own  pro- 
vince, bidding  advertisements  stand  back  to  the 
building  line.  No  hindrance  should  be  offered  to  a 
clear  path  for  travel  by  walk  or  road;  no  announce- 
ment should  break  the  vista  of  the  street,  nor  thrust 
itself  before  the  wayfarer  by  hanging  over  the  walk 


tTbe  furnishings  of  tbe  Street. 


r53 


or  standing  upon  it  at  door  or  curb.  The  street 
should  be  a clear  passage  — that  is  its  object  in  the 
making;  and  there  is  as  true  a need  that  every  inch 
of  it  be  open  to  the  sky  as  that  the  vista  of  the  way 
be  unbroken.  This  means  that  civic  art,  turning  its 
attention  to  the  furnishings  of  the  street,  would  frown 
upon  all  projecting  signs;  that  it  would  prohibit  all 
bulletin  boards,  signs,  and  transparencies  on  the  side- 
walk or  at  the  curb;  that  it  would  have  no  banners 
hung  across  the  street,  nor  would  suffer  any  public 
utility  or  ornament  of  the  way  to  be  placarded.  It 
would  sweep  the  street  itself  clean  of  advertisements 
from  building  front  to  building  front. 

Does  this  demand  seem  too  large,  the  ideal  too 
high  to  be  practical?  There  is  not  a particle  of  it  that 
has  not  now  been  somewhere  framed  in  city  ordinance 
— revealing  a public  approval  of  each  individual  item 
in  the  count  and  an  imagination  that  popularly  has 
tried  its  wings  and  needs  only  daring  to  fly  far. 

Projecting-sign  ordinances  are  extremely  common. 
Even  where  these  do  not  entirely  prohibit  the  signs, 
they  make  it  necessary  to  ask  permission  for  their 
erection,  and  then  almost  certainly  limit  the  height 
above  the  walk  at  which  they  may  be  fixed.1  In  re- 
gard to  the  removal  of  bulletin  boards,  signs,  and 

1 As  far  back  as  the  reign  of  George  III.  in  England  this  matter  of  clearing  the 
street  of  sidewalk  obstructions  was  a recognised  necessity.  The  preamble  to  an 
Act  of  II.  George  III.,  cap.  23,  1771,  recites  that  the  passage  through  certain  streets 
in  the  parish  of  Aldgate,  in  the  county  of  Middlesex,  was  “greatly  obstructed  by 
posts,  projections,  and  other  nuisances,  and  annoyed  by  spouts,  signs,  and  gutters.” 
The  enactment  is  “ that  all  houses  and  buildings  hereafter  to  be  built  or  new  fronted 
shall,  for  the  effectual  and  absolute  prevention  of  all  manner  of  projections,  annoy- 


*54 


fTDobern  Civic  Hit. 


transparencies  from  a position  on  the  walk,  probably 
the  most  interesting  case  to  be  cited  is  that  offered 
by  the  Merchants’  Association  of  San  Francisco.  The 
special  interest  of  this  is  the  circumstance  that  the 
prime  movers  in  demanding  the  enforcement  of 
the  existing  ordinance  and  the  increase  of  its  restric- 
tive power  were  merchants,  not  a few  impractical 
and  visionary  merchants,  but  the  whole  great  body  of 
the  city’s  business  men,  the  advertisers  themselves; 
and  that  the  action,  taken  formally  and  after  long 
thought,  was  that  of  the  association  which  repre- 
sented them  and  which  is  one  of  the  strongest  com- 
mercial bodies  in  the  United  States.  The  Merchants’ 
Association  Review  summed  up  the  action  in  these 
words:  “ It  has  been  decided  by  the  board  of  direc- 
tors, after  full  consideration,  to  recommend  to  the 
Board  of  Public  Works  that  all  bulletin  boards,  signs, 
and  transparencies  on  the  outer  edge  of  sidewalks  be 
removed,  and  that  nothing  of  this  character  be 
permitted  hereafter.”  The  whole  discussion  and 
ordinance  are  most  interesting  and  suggestive.1 

ances,  and  inconveniences  thereby,  rise  perpendicularly  from  the  foundation.”  In 
1 834  an  act  made  all  signs,  sign-irons,  sign-posts,  barbers’  poles,  dyers’  poles,  stalls, 
blocks,  bulks,  show-boards,  butchers’  hooks,  spouts,  water-pipes,  and  other  pro- 
jections in  front  of  the  houses  in  Bermondsey  liable  to  removal  at  the  demand  of  the 
local  commissioners. 

1 The  ordinance  as  finally  drawn  up  presented  a compromise  in  regard  to  “ signs 
and  transparencies  on  poles,”  at  the  outer  edge  of  the  walk.  These  were  to  be 
permitted  if  they  were  of  a design  approved  by  the  Board  of  Public  Works  and  if 
they  bore  a clock,  — which  should  be  kept  accurate, — or  lights  having  a minimum 
total  of  192  candle-power,  to  be  kept  lighted  every  night  from  sunset  to  midnight  at 
the  expense  of  the  person  erecting  or  maintaining  the  sign.  The  argument  was  that 
the  sign  or  transparency  “ would  thus  benefit  the  public  in  exchange  for  occupying 
a portion  of  the  public  thoroughfare.”  But  this  was  unsatisfactory,  and  the  final 
enactment  was  that  only  ornamental  clocks  without  name  or  advertisement  should 
stand  at  the  curb. 


Gbe  jfurntebinge  of  tbe  Street.  155 

In  this  connection  there  will  be  thought  again  of 
the  advertising  kiosks  of  many  Continental  cities, 
notably  of  Paris.  Paris  has  done  so  much  in  civic 
art  that  she  has  gained  for  herself  a reputation  that 
makes  it  easier  to  judge  kindly  than  justly  of  her 
experiments  in  the  furnishing  of  the  street  and  the 
adornment  of  the  city.  Could  the  municipality  that 
has  so  bridged  the  Seine  and  lined  it  with  no- 
ble quays,  that  has  transformed  slum  districts  into 
magnificent  boulevards,  that  has  made  the  Place 
de  la  Concorde  one  of  the  most  brilliant  scenes  in 
the  world  and  yet  considers  it  but  an  incident  in  that 

belt  of  urban  splendour  of  which  the  gardens  of  the 

* 

Tuilleries,  the  long  vista  of  the  Champs  Elysees,  the 
streets  radiating  from  the  Arch  of  the  Star,  the  Ave- 
nue du  Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  then  the  Bois  itself 
are  but  other  parts, — could  that  city  have  made  a 
mistake  in  permitting  the  erection  of  kiosks  along 
the  walks  ? How  picturesque  these  kiosks  are,  and 
how  much  better  to  concentrate  the  miscellane- 
ous advertising  upon  them  than  to  scatter  it  along 
the  highway  ! Little  wonder  that  other  cities  have 
followed  the  Paris  example.  But  civic  art  should 
have  before  it  a vision  of  a city  beautiful  that  is  no 
more  Paris,  though  equally  practicable  and  attainable, 
than  it  is  any  other  particular  place.  The  question  is 
not,  “ Does  Paris  do  this  ? ” but,  “ Is  this  the  best 
practical  solution  ? ” The  kiosks  are  picturesque, 
and  it  is  better  to  concentrate  the  poster  advertising 
and  put  its  aesthetic  character  under  control  than  not 


156 


fCtobern  Civic  art. 


to  restrain  it.  This  much  may  be  admitted  ; and 
yet  can  any  one,  walking  along  the  Paris  streets  and 
giving  an  unbiassed  judgment,  declare  that  these 
thoroughfares  would  not  be  better  were  all  the 
newspaper  kiosks  and  advertising  columns  re- 
moved ? Asa  step  in  the  right  direction,  the  experi- 
ment is  to  be  commended  ; but  it  is  to  be  considered 
a step,  not  a goal.  There  is,  too,  a peril  in  partial  ad- 
vance, lest  satisfaction  with  relative  relief  grow  into 
contentment.  It  were  better  and  safer  to  banish  at 
once  all  the  advertisements  from  the  walk. 

Finally,  as  to  banners  across  the  street  and  the 
placarding  of  public  utilities  and  ornaments.  The 
Review,  published  by  the  San  Francisco  Merchants’ 
Association,  editorially  declared,  with  reference  to 
the  first  point,  in  1901  : “The  constant  opposition 
of  the  association  has  resulted  in  freeing  our  streets 
from  this  conspicuous  disfigurement.”  The  object- 
ion to  over-street  banners,  of  which  this  action  in 
San  Francisco  is  an  expression,  is  common. 

What  has  been  said  of  advertising  columns  and 
newspaper  kiosks  should  of  course  apply  with  added 
force  to  the  posting  of  placards  or  advertisements  on 
any  fixture  of  the  public  way, — on  any  utility,  such 
as  the  lighting  apparatus,  or  the  trolley  poles  and 
bicycle  racks  where  these  exist.  With  still  greater 
emphasis,  again,  must  it  apply  to  such  decorative 
furnishings  of  the  street  as  trees,  to  the  very  vitality 
of  which  injury  may  be  done  by  attaching  signs,  or 
as  statues  and  public  monuments.  New  York  or 


<Xbe  tfurnisbtngs  of  tbe  Street. 


1 57 


London  would  not  permit  so  atrociously  incongru- 
ous an  act  as  the  posting  of  bills  on  the  latter,  and 
yet,  it  is  significantly  to  be  noted,  this  became  so 
serious  an  evil  in  Paris  that  a special  committee  was 
appointed  to  look  into  the  subject  just  after  the  Ex- 
position of  1900,  when  the  criticism  of  foreigners,  so 
it  is  said,  aroused  the  French  to  a realisation  of  the 
impropriety.  It  is  fair  to  say  that  an  ordinance 
already  existed  which  forbade  the  attachment  of 
commercial  posters  to  such  structures,  but  the  ped- 
estals of  statues  and  the  walls  and  even  the  doors 
of  public  buildings  were  plastered  with  political  an- 
nouncements. So  we  find  even  Paris  markedly  neg- 
ligent regarding  one  widely  recognised  necessity  of 
civic  art.  But  we  have  seen  that  in  the  broad  review 
of  cities  there  is  now  enforced  somewhere,  though 
individually,  each  item  of  a list  that  in  the  aggregate 
would  sweep  the  streets  free  of  advertisements  from 
building  wall  to  building  wall. 

These  are  the  restrictive  demands.  Civic  art,  it 
was  said,  however,  should  perceive  in  the  advertis- 
ing in  the  business  districts  such  possibilities  of  good 
as  almost  to  forget  hostility  in  the  thrill  of  the 
opportunity.  For  it  would  not  destroy  the  com- 
mercial aspect  of  the  streets,  it  would  not  have 
them  shorn  of  the  marks  of  enterprise  and  com- 
petition. It  would  ask  only  that  the  public  way  itself 
be  free  and  clear,  that  irrelevant  announcements  be 
not  thrust  upon  it,  and  that  glaring  ill  taste  and 
offensive  gaudiness  be  not  shown  in  the  display. 


HDobetn  Civic  Hit. 


158 

The  subject  is  too  large  to  be  gone  into  here  with 
detail,  and  the  author  has  treated  it  pretty  fully  in 
another  book1;  but  the  ideal  can  be  summed  up 
briefly:  After  the  restrictive  demands,  it  would  ask, 
as  the  positive  requirements,  that  all  window  an- 
nouncements be  made  in  gold  leaf,  neatly  and  with 
as  few  words  as  may  be;  that  there  be  encourage- 
ment of  the  rebus  sign,  in  which  an  arbitrarily  chosen 
device  symbolises  a trade, — as  the  three  golden  balls 
stand  for  the  pawnbroker’s, — so  taking  the  place  of 
considerable  lettering;  that  all  advertisements  at- 
tached to  building  facades  be  below  a certain  height, 
— thirty  feet  has  been  suggested, — and  that  their 
size  be  proportioned  to  the  front  surface  area  under 
the  adopted  advertising  height-limit  of  the  building 
to  which  they  are  affixed;  that  all  the  signs  externally 
attached,  and  all  rebus  signs,  be  made,  as  far  as  pos- 
sible, a decorative  element  of  the  structure  itself,  so 
harmonising  with  and  entering  into  the  architecture 
as  to  increase  rather  than  lessen  its  effectiveness; 
finally,  that  there  be  a genuine  effort  to  bring  art  and 
beauty  into  the  sign,  in  recognition  that  it  will  then 
gain  better  commercial  results  than  when  hideous. 

It  is  proper  here  to  say  that  ugly  assertiveness 
secures  only  an  instant’s  attention  and  is  turned 
from  with  disgust;  beauty  and  fitness,  which  is  to 
say  art,  are  looked  at  long  and  with  pleasure  and 
are  turned  to  again  and  again.  In  most  cases,  also, 

1 See  “ The  Advertisement  Problem,”  Chapter  V.  of  The  Improvement  of  Towns 
and  Cities,  G.  P.  Putnam’s  Sons. 


Cbc  Jfurmsbings  of  tbe  Street.  159 

they  can  be  secured  at  no  greater  cost  than  that 
involved  in  providing  the  strikingly  ugly.  There 
has  been  successful  test  of  this  in  the  competitions 
conducted  by  L’CEuvre  Nationale  Beige,  which  have 
lately  resulted  in  the  placing  of  many  beautiful  signs 
on  the  streets  of  Antwerp  and  Brussels;  and  in  the 
exhibition  held  in  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  Paris,  in  1902, 
when  some  two  hundred  shop  signs  were  submitted 
in  a competition  of  artists.  It  may  be  objected  that 
the  ancient,  pictured  sign-board  rose  out  of  a need, 
in  the  illiteracy  of  the  times.  When  servants  and 
many  masters  could  not  read,  there  was  a real 
urgency  that  it  should  be  possible  to  recognise  a 
shop  by  its  picture  sign,  and  that  one  should  be 
able  to  direct  an  enquirer  to  “ the  sign  of  the  rose,” 
etc.  The  reaction  came  when  printed  words  suf- 
ficed. But  if  now  we  refuse  to  read  the  printed  words 
attentively  — as  most  of  us  do  — there  is  as  good  an 
excuse  as  of  old  for  a sign  that  shall  not  only  arrest 
attention  but  dwell  pleasantly  in  the  memory. 

The  requirements  as  a whole  are  so  obviously 
reasonable,  and  are  becoming  so  widely  endorsed 
even  without  their  formal  statement,  that  enuncia- 
tion of  them  seems  almost  trite.  Many  large  ad- 
vertisers are  already  showing,  by  their  works,  their 
faith  in  the  mild  Belgian  dictum  that  in  advertising 
“art  is  not  incompatible  with  economy  and  the 
necessities  of  trade.”  A vast  change  in  the  aspect 
of  the  business  street  would  be  caused  by  faithful 
adherence  to  these  requirements.  Civic  art  would 


i6o 


fTDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


have  something  to  be  proud  of,  if  it  could  point 
to  a modern  business  street  the  vista  of  which  was 
unbroken  by  overhead  banners  or  projecting  signs, 
the  walks  of  which  were  clear  for  travel,  and  on 
which,  at  the  building  lines,  there  were  harmonious 
facades  of  approximately  even  balcony  and  cornice 
heights,  with  no  advertising  above  a certain  reason- 
able limit,  and  below  that  all  the  signs  so  in  harmony 
with  the  architecture  as  to  seem  a part  of  the  struct- 
ures, and  beautiful  and  interesting;  while  above  the 
chosen  height  there  were  window  announcements 
only,  in  gold  leaf  — self-contained,  harmonious,  and 
dignified.  The  attractiveness  of  the  street  would  be 
immensely  increased,  its  interest  no  whit  lessened, 
and  the  competition  of  the  merchants  still  kept 
keen,  while  transferred  to  a field  more  rational, 
more  inviting  to  their  self-respect  than  now,  and 
to  one  very  full  of  promise  for  art  and  artists. 

There  will  again  be  need,  however,  at  the  build- 
ing line  of  some  negative  requirements.  Gable- 
end  lettering,  and  advertising  on  blank  side  walls 
even  below  the  assumed  advertising  height-limit, 
would  have  to  be  prohibited.  Civic  art  would 
frown,  too,  upon  sky-signs,  which  is  to  say  roof- 
lettering, if  the  requirements  as  to  the  facades 
did  not  cover  this  point.  When  building  operations 
are  under  way,  it  would  safeguard  the  new  struct- 
ure from  the  depredations  of  thoughtless  advertis- 
ers with  no  less  vigilance  than  it  would  defend  a 
completed  building,  for  this  is  equally  a factor  in 


cbc  jfurntsbtnQS  of  tbe  Street.  161 

the  aspect  of  the  street.  While  a fence  encloses 
the  operations,  that  fence  would  be  kept  free  from 
advertisements.  Similarly,  the  fences  in  front  of 
vacant  lots  and  the  erection  of  bill-boards  on  vacant 
property  would  be  made  a matter  of  concern.  In 
the  latter  case,  the  boards  should  at  least  be  put 
back  of  the  building  line,  so  as  to  be  visible  only 
when  one  is  directly  before  them,  and  their  erection 
should  be  dependent  on  the  permission  of  the 
owner  of  the  opposite  property.  Finally,  restrict- 
ions would  be  placed  on  night  advertising,  especi- 
ally as  regards  the  use  of  flashing  electric  signs;  but 
this,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  would  be  better  provided  for 
in  the  rise  of  a new  ideal  of  street  illumination  based 
on  the  new  conditions  with  their  new  possibilities. 

Of  all  these  advertisement  requirements,  positive 
and  negative,  and  of  the  suggestions  that  accom- 
pany them,  there  are  only  two  which  are  not 
known  to  the  author  as  actually  now  incorporated 
in  city  ordinances,  and  as  enforced,  somewhere. 
The  vision  does  not  seem  so  remote  and  unreal, 
nor  modern  civic  art  so  far  from  the  attainment  of 
the  dream. 

Some  other,  though  perhaps  less  essential,  furnish- 
ings of  the  business  street  remain,  and  are  found 
with  more  or  less  frequency.  The  poles  for  the 
overhead  trolley,  the  temporary  evil  of  a trans- 
ition time  as  there  is  reason  to  believe,  in  business 
districts  certainly,  are  still  widely  existent.  The 
waste  receptacles,  the  post  and  fire-alarm  boxes,  the 


162 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


public-convenience  stations,  and  the  waiting-rooms 
for  surface  transportation  — all  these  appear,  when 
they  appear  at  all,  as  public  utilities,  and  as  such 
furnish  fitting  means  for  the  decoration  of  the 
street. 

For  it  is  to  be  observed  that  the  business  street, 
strictly  and  solely  utilitarian  as  it  is,  can  be  ap- 
propriately decorated  within  itself  only  by  improv- 
ing the  artistic  quality  of  its  regular  furnishings. 
There  is  rarely  any  excess  here  of  space,  for  squares 
and  public  areas  are  to  be  separately  considered, 
and  “the  business  street”  is  held  to  refer  to  that 
portion  alone  of  the  thoroughfare  which  is  given 
up  to  business.  Almost  its  sole  chance  then,  within 
itself,  for  the  finer  and  more  decorative  touches  of 
civic  art,  thus  rests  on  the  street  furnishings,  and 
from  that  point  of  view  none  of  them  is  so  humble 
as  not  to  deserve  — be  it  post  or  sign,  letter  box 
or  isle  of  safety  — real  artistic  thought  and  care. 
Whether  the  property  of  the  municipality  or  of 
private  corporations,  this  artistic  character  should 
be  equally  insisted  upon,  for  in  so  far  as  the  furnish- 
ings occupy  space  on  the  public  way  they  are 
public  in  the  effect  that  they  produce  as  well  as  in 
the  function  they  perform.  The  use  of  the  street 
can  be  properly  withheld  from  a public-service  cor- 
poration if  it  will  not  agree  to  use  the  street  with 
adequate  aesthetic  circumspection. 

Municipalities  themselves  are  not  beyond  the 
need  of  such  warning.  The  city  of  Berlin  receives  a 


Gbe  Jfurnisblnas  of  tbe  Street. 


163 


large  income  annually  from  the  lease  of  sidewalk  ad- 
vertising columns  or  boards,  and  we  have  mentioned 
the  kiosks  of  Paris  and  the  columns  for  theatrical 
posters.  In  New  York  a few  years  ago  an  ordinance 
was  introduced,  and  promptly  smothered,  to  grant 
to  a private  corporation  the  right  to  place  waste  cans 
along  the  streets,  the  cans  to  be  of  a certain  definite 
size,  “designed  and  contrived  in  a suitable  manner,” 
maintained  at  all  times  “in  a neat  and  sanitary  con- 
dition,” and  without  expense  to  the  city  — in  fact  to 
the  city’s  profit,  the  company  agreeing  to  pay  into 
the  treasury  twelve  and  one-half  per  cent,  of  the 
gross  income  received  from  the  lease  of  the  advertis- 
ing space.  It  was  estimated  that  the  lease  of  the 
advertising  would  easily  be  worth  a half-million  dol- 
lars, and  might  be  worth  a million,  a year.  The 
terms  which  the  company  offered  reveal  that  it  would 
be  very  profitable,  and  had  they  been  made  generally 
public  must  have  caused  many  a town  and  village  — 
and,  sadder,  many  an  improvement  association  of 
town  or  village  — to  blush  for  the  privilege  it  has 
thrown  away  for  nothing,  except  the  setting  up  of 
the  cans.  It  must  have  made  them  ask  themselves 
whether  they  had  gained  anything  even  in  securing 
these,  if  for  rubbish  concealed  there  was  substituted 
a new  stream  of  advertising  on  the  walks.  The  in- 
cident measures  also  how  great  is  the  artistic  potenti- 
ality of  even  the  humblest  street  fixtures.  What 
furnishing  of  the  way  would  be  so  little  noticed  as 
the  can  for  waste  ? And  yet  it  was  calculated  that 


164 


flDobern  Civic  art 


business  men  would  pay  perhaps  a million  dollars  a 
year  in  New  York  to  get  their  names  upon  the  cans— 
a proof  of  their  estimate  of  the  visual  importance  of 
these  receptacles. 

But  this  chapter’s  discussion  has  been  vain,  if  it 
has  not  made  clear  that  economy  of  space  is  a first 
requisite  in  planning  the  street  furnishings.  Nothing 
will  do  more  to  improve  the  street’s  appearance  than 
the  avoidance  of  a multiplicity  of  fixtures.  The 
complexity  of  modern  urban  life  and  the  highly  re- 
fined character  of  its  requirements  necessitate  the 
provision  of  much  apparatus  for  which  the  modern 
business  thoroughfare  can  ill  afford  the  space.  The 
first  requisite,  then,  is  to  dispense  with  all  that  is 
not  absolutely  essential  to  the  greatest  convenience 
of  the  street  — as  sidewalk  advertising;  and  of  the 
remaining  furnishings  to  combine  as  many  as  may  be 
in  single  fixtures.  Finally,  the  fixtures  thus  arranged 
should  be  rendered  as  appropriately  decorative,  which 
is  to  say  as  artistic,  as  possible.  There  is  much  to 
recommend  that  those  which  belong  to  the  muni- 
cipality should  bear  the  city’s  crest. 

The  public-convenience  station  is  best  under- 
ground. That  the  trolley  pole  and  probably  the 
lighting  apparatus  may  ultimately  be  removed  from 
the  business  street  there  is  reason  to  hope,  and  the 
pole  for  overhead  wires  is  assumed  to  be  banished. 
Meanwhile  the  isle  of  safety  and  the  lighting  appar- 
atus (until  the  latter  also  disappears)  invite  combina- 
tion; and  the  street  name  sign,  the  waste  can,  the 


t£be  jfurmsbmes  of  tbe  Street.  165 

fire-alarm  and  letter  box  may  be  conveniently  added 
to  the  post  that  supports  also  the  light.  The  economy 
of  providing  the  single  fixture  — instead  of  the  sev- 
eral that  now  support  these  utilities  separately  — 
would  leave  ample  funds  with  which  to  secure  and 
execute  a beautiful  design.  Thus  we  would  have  a 
business  street  much  freer  than  now  for  traffic,  not 
less  conveniently  supplied,  and  of  greater  dignity 
and  completeness  of  effect.  A street  of  noble  lines 
and  handsome  buildings  may  quite  lose  its  splendour 
if  marred  by  conspicuously  numerous  and  ugly  furn- 
ishings ; and  since  these  are  such  small  details,  so 
easily  controlled  by  the  single  governing  body  to 
which  the  streets  belong,  failure  here  is  particularly 
sad. 

Street  furnishings  have  been  acquired  one  by  one, 
by  such  gradual  evolution  as  noted  in  the  case  of  the 
lighting  apparatus,  and  each  has  been  — with  its 
separate  owner— a separate  problem,  handled  by 
itself  and  so  constructed.  It  remains  for  modern 
civic  art  to  weld  them,  to  grasp  the  problem  as  a 
whole,  sift  out  the  non-essentials  from  the  relevant 
and  necessary,  and,  treating  the  street  as  a canvas  to 
be  thickly  peopled,  to  concentrate  the  furnishings 
that  remain  in  a beautiful  and  single  composition. 
The  furnishings  of  a street,  like  the  furnishings  of  a 
room,  should  add  not  only  to  its  convenience  but  to 
its  aesthetic  aspect. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ADORNING  WITH  FOUNTAINS  AND  SCULP- 
TURE. 

IN  the  building  and  dreaming  of  beautiful  cities 
there  is  happily  no  need  that  civic  art  put  all  its 
dependence,  even  in  the  business  district,  on 
the  street  crowded  with  travel.  The  decorative 
quality  that  can  be  given  to  the  public  utilities  is 
only  a detail.  The  potential  splendour  inherent  in  a 
scientific  street  plan  will  have  little  notice,  if  atten- 
tion be  not  drawn  to  it  by  a bold  seizure  of  the  op- 
portunities for  urban  embellishment  which  it  affords. 
The  basic  lines  of  the  city  may  be  faultless,  the 
furnishings  of  the  street  may  be  as  concentrated  and 
as  beautiful  in  fixtures  as  is  consistent  with  their  use, 
and  yet  the  city  must  fail  to  attain  to  the  common- 
est standards  of  civic  art,  if  there  be  not  conscious 
decorative  effort. 

It  has  been  said  that  modern  civic  art,  in  which 
the  practical  quality  looms  large,  would  require  on 
that  portion  of  the  business  thoroughfare  which  is 

166 


aborning  witb  fountains  anb  Sculpture.  167 

strictly  street  no  erections  that  have  not  some  other 
than  aesthetic  purpose.  It  would  even  resist  the  in- 
trusion, on  such  precious  space,  of  the  purely  artistic. 
But  we  have  seen  that  in  the  scientific  street  plan 
the  areas  of  unrelieved  streets  are  never  large,  that 
even  the  longest  thoroughfares  are  broken  at  close 
intervals  by  open  spaces,  by  diagonal  crossings, 
focal  centres,  or  at  least  by  architectural  accents. 
Each  one  of  these  breaks  presents  an  opportunity  to 
civic  art.  The  open  space,  the  diagonal  street 
crossing,  the  bridge,  the  architectural  accent, — 
each  calls  for  aesthetic  treatment.  Indeed,  the  last 
seems  almost  to  involve  artistic  development,  and 
we  have  seen  how  certainly  the  former  call  for 
decorative  lighting.  Hardly  less  urgent  is  their 
invitation  to  adornment  with  fountains  or  civic 
sculpture. 

Long,  in  fact,  before  there  was  thought  of  a brill- 
iant lighting  of  the  cities,  fountains  bubbled  in  the 
squares,  chiselled  heroes  were  enthroned  as  masters 
of  the  scene,  commemorative  arches  stood  at  focal 
points,  and  bridges  were  the  stateliest  parts  of  urban 
highways.  Years  afterwards,  but  still  before  attempt 
was  made  to  render  the  lighting  at  such  points  part- 
icularly brilliant  or  spectacular,  the  area  that  could 
be  spared  in  public  spaces  had  been  planted  with 
turf  and  trees,  and  later  with  flowers.  The  open 
spaces  in  the  city’s  heart  have  thus  been  inevitably 
valued  from  the  first  as  the  vantage  points  of  civic 
art.  The  most  untrained  municipal  art  ideal  has 


ffDobern  Civic  art. 


1 68 

seen  that  these  might  be  the  city’s  jewels.  The  de- 
mand of  the  modern  and  trained  civic  art  is  that  they 
shall  be  considered  not  by  themselves,  but  as  com- 
ponents having  a direct  relation  with  all  the  sur- 
rounding city  plan;  that  they  be  embellished,  not 
with  reference  merely  to  their  own  improvement, 
but  with  regard  to  the  effect  as  seen  from  converg- 
ing streets.  In  brief,  it  would  have  us  realise  that 
the  opportunity  which  is  offered  by  such  spaces  for 
the  increase  of  urban  amenity  lies  not  in  making 
here  a brilliant  structural  area  and  there  a bit  of  gar- 
den, but  in  the  decoration  of  the  city  by  the  shed- 
ding of  splendour  over  humbler  adjacent  streets. 
The  function  of  the  open  space  of  a city  is  not,  as 
understood  by  modern  civic  art,  to  surprise  with  a 
sudden  loveliness  that  had  been  hidden  until  come 
upon  unexpectedly.  It  is  to  cast  its  radiance  as  far 
as  possible  over  the  surrounding  area. 

The  main  dependence,  then,  of  a city  for  its 
decorative  effect  is  to  be  placed  on  these  breaks  in 
the  monotony  of  its  closely  built-up  streets.  As  the 
street  plan  becomes  more  scientific,  the  breaks,  of 
one  kind  and  another,  occur  in  increasing  numbers. 
It  becomes  possible  to  give  an  air  of  splendour,  of 
elaborate  embellishment,  to  the  city  at  large,  with  no 
trespassing  on  the  precious  space  of  street.  The  eye 
travels  from  one  decorative  object  to  another,  finding 
the  thoroughfare  only  a brief  connecting  link.  The 
ideal  is  that  of  the  maker  of  a beautiful  chain  joining 
his  brilliants  by  links  simple  in  themselves  but  appro- 


aborning  witb  fountains  ant>  Sculpture.  169 

priate  to  their  purpose  and  rendered  lovely  by  the 
frequency  of  the  jewels  that  they  unite. 

And  yet  the  maker  of  a chain,  working  caressingly 
at  his  task,  will  put  upon  his  links  such  chasing  as 
he  can  without  injury  to  its  function.  So  the  build- 
ers of  beautiful  cities  will  sometimes  be  able  to  bring 
into  the  street  itself  some  decoration.  There  has 
been  noted  the  effort  to  make  utilities  beautiful.  We 
should  go  further  if  occasion  offers.  If  the  business 
street  be  broad  in  proportion  to  the  travel  offering, 
there  may  be  space  even  here,  without  prejudice  to 
utility,  for  fountain  or  for  statue.  So  there  will  be 
led  on  to  the  highway  itself  the  ornamentation  of  the 
open  space.  Or  we  may  find  room  for  a row  of  small 
and  formal  trees  that  will  not  be  inconsistent  with 
the  character  of  the  way,  while  bringing  into  it  a 
strip  of  colour  and  joining  planted  square  to  planted 
square  by  a welcome,  if  slender,  stream  of  nature. 

There  is  much  to  commend  the  placing  of  statues, 
fountains,  and  trees  on  the  street,  even  the  business 
street,  if  there  be  sufficient  room.  Nor  are  the  ad- 
vantages aesthetic  only.  The  trees,  though  small 
and  trimmed  in  formal  shapes  as  fitting  the  business 
street,  cast  a welcome  shade  when  the  sun  is  hot, 
and  soften,  it  is  said,  all  extremes  of  temperature. 
The  fountains,  if  serving  to  quench  the  thirst  of  man 
and  beast,— as  will  doubtless  be  their  purpose  in 
such  location,— have  an  eminently  practical  use. 
They  perform  also  a pleasant  function  in  bringing 
into  the  street  that  sound  of  running  water  which, 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


170 

in  its  idle  play,  its  music  reminiscent  of  the  wood- 
land stream  and  of  nature’s  care-free  abandonment, 
has  in  the  city  so  rare  a power  to  charm.  It  has 
been  well  said  that  something  about  us,  some  linger- 
ing touch  perhaps  of  the  race’s  primitive  days,  gives 
to  the  running  water  of  the  city  fountain  that  re- 
lation to  public  life  which  the  fire  in  the  open  hearth 
has  to  private  life.  To  appreciate  this  to  the  full, 
the  fountain  should  be  in  the  square,  where  there 
may  be  leisure  to  sit  before  it.  But  even  in  the  roar 
of  the  street  the  fascination  of  its  music  is  not  lost. 
As  to  the  statues,  the  street  with  its  ceaseless  multi- 
tudes offers,  if  it  has  room  to  offer  any  site  for  sculpt- 
ure, a location  that  must  be  full  of  inspiration  to  him 
who  would  commemorate  in  permanent  materials 
the  deeds  of  great  citizens,  the  examples  of  national 
heroes,  the  causes  for  civic  pride,  and  the  incentives 
to  high  resolve  which  are  offered  by  the  past. 

With  double  advantage,  then,  in  economy  of  space 
and  in  effectiveness,  the  fountain  and  the  sculpt- 
ure might  be  combined.  And  if  the  joint  struct- 
ure can  be  thrust  back  to  the  building  line,  given 
a place  in  a narrow  corner  where  an  acute  angle 
would  rob  a building’s  facade  of  serviceability,  or 
at  a point  where  converging  streets  make  a lot 
that  is  very  small,  it  will  give  to  the  way  a charm  — 
grandiose  or  picturesquely  quaint  and  unexpected  — 
that  civic  art  must  highly  esteem.  The  French  and 
Italians,  in  their  lavish  use  of  fountains  in  cities,  offer 
many  an  example  of  a fountain  that,  placed  on  the 


The  Fontaine  Moliere,  Paris.  This  has  been  placed  in  the  acute  angle 
formed  at  the  building  line  by  converging  streets,  a point  of  great  civic 
significance  but  one  that,  because  of  its  slight  commercial  value,  is  often  an 
eyesore. 


adorning  witb  fountains  and  Sculpture.  171 

building  line,  is  yet  able  to  change  the  character  of 
the  street.  Of  the  first  effect,  the  Fontaine  St.  Michel 
in  Paris  is  perhaps  the  most  obvious  example;  for 
the  second,  a fountain  in  a corner  of  the  Rue  de  la 
Grosse  Horloge,  Rouen,  will  serve.  In  both  of  these 
sculpture  is  added  conspicuously  to  the  fountain. 
Or  it  may  be  possible  to  connect  the  sculpture  with 
the  architecture  of  the  way.  This,  in  fact,  is  done 
repeatedly,  and  plainly  it, may  be  done  with  great 
success  in  the  case  of  the  public  buildings.  Upon 
them  civic  sculpture  may  serve  a triple  purpose: 
adorning  the  structure  and  giving  to  it  fitting  ex- 
pression, adorning  the  city,  and  conveying,  finally, 
that  public  message  which  is  one  of  the  functions 
of  urban  sculpture.  An  illustration  of  such  use  is 
found  in  the  beautiful  carving  over  the  entrance  to 
the  Doges’  Palace  in  Venice,  where  a doge  in  all  his 
lordly  state  kneels  with  reverence  and  humility  be- 
fore the  lion  of  St.  Mark  — a reminder  that  he  who 
enters  serves,  and  is  not  master  of,  the  State.  So  in 
the  recurring  wolf  of  Sienna  and  lily  of  Florence 
there  were  frequent  patriotic  appeals  in  the  sculpt- 
ured stone  of  the  Renaissance. 

But  we  have  said  that  a city  depends  mainly  for 
decoration,  in  its  business  district,  after  its  architect- 
ure, on  the  adornment  of  its  squares  and  plazas. 
Here  the  sculpture  will  rise  with  greatest  freedom; 
here  there  is  ample  room  for  the  play  of  fountains 
and  their  enjoyment;  here  trees  and  shrubs  and 
flowers  and  grass  have  space  to  flourish;  and  here 


ffI>ot>ern  Civic  art. 


1 72 

first  the  city  lighting  will  be  brilliant  in  its  power 
and  decorative  in  its  fixtures.  Here  individual  largess 
will  first  reveal  itself  and  private  taste  first  embrace 
an  opportunity  to  stamp  its  imprint  on  public  pro- 
perty. Nor  will  it  do  so,  where  modern  civic  art  pre- 
vails, to  the  making  or  marring  of  the  space  alone. 
Its  influence  will  be  felt  as  far  on  all  the  converging 
streets  as  the  open  space  can  be  seen. 

So  it  happens  that  a need  is  felt,  in  the  decoration 
of  cities,  for  an  authority  of  expert  taste  and  educa- 
tion to  which  these  matters  may  be  referred,  in  or- 
der that  results  may  be  anticipated,  mistakes  avoided, 
artistic  discernment  encouraged,  and  ill  taste  curbed. 
There  must  be  a standard  of  civic  art,  by  which  all 
that  changes  the  aspect  of  the  way  shall  be  judged  — 
to  be  condemned  if  failing  below  it,  to  be  approved 
if  rising  to  its  height.  That  standard  must  be  high 
and  there  must  be  authority  to  enforce  adherence  to 
it,  but  those  who  have  this  power  must  be  generous. 
In  public  art  there  should  be  no  bigoted  repression; 
individualism  is  to  be  not  less  feared  in  the  judging 
than  in  the  creating.  The  ideal  authority  would 
be  a thoroughly  educated  public  taste.  When  there 
is  not  this  to  depend  upon,  the  jury  must  have  much 
catholicity  of  sentiment.  It  must  be  firmly  didactic 
only  in  the  broadly  recognised  essentials  of  art. 

Paris  solves  the  problem  by  calling  to  her  service 
in  advisory  capacity  the  leading  artists  and  archi- 
tects of  the  city.  Some  American  municipalities  — 
as  New  York,  Boston,  and  others — have  tried  to 


Booming  wxtb  jfountains  anb  Sculpture.  173 

follow  her  example  by  establishing  municipal  art 
commissions.  But  they  have  been  at  great  pains  to 
safeguard  the  composition  of  the  commissions  and 
to  limit  their  powers.  The  act  which  creates  the 
commission  names  many  of  its  members  by  ex-officio 
appointments  and  closely  limits  the  groups  from 
which  the  others  may  be  drawn.  This  is  designed 
to  insure  the  high  character  of  the  commission,  its 
broad  culture,  and  its  independence  of  politics.  There 
is  then  given  to  it  only  the  negative  power  of  a veto, 
in  order  that  the  art  impulse  may  remain  popular 
and  that  inspiration  may  be  free.  It  is  told  to  stand 
aside  and  merely  to  criticise  what  others  propose 
to  do.  It  has  no  initiative  power.  Instead  of  work- 
ing with  the  officials  of  the  city,  it  may  work  directly 
against  them.  They  do  not  have  to  seek  it  in  con- 
sultation when  planning  the  public  works,  as  in  Paris; 
but  they  make  their  plans  and  then  the  commission 
criticises  with  no  power  to  offer  suggestions  that 
will  be  heeded.  It  has  authority  to  forbid,  but  none 
to  advise  until  requested  so  to  do.  The  device  at 
best,  therefore,  is  a poor  makeshift;  but  it  is  a con- 
quest of  modern  civic  art  to  have  recognised  the 
need  and,  in  trying  timidly  to  satisfy  it,  to  have 
guarded  so  zealously  the  publicity  of  public  art,  to 
have  feared  to  take  any  step  that  would  discourage 
the  close  connection  that  should  exist  between  the 
people  and  the  beautifying  of  their  city.  For  modern 
civic  art  differs  from  that  of  any  earlier  civilisation  in 
few  essentials  so  urgently  as  in  this:  it  is  democratic. 


174 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


There  is  little  that  is  pleasant  in  criticising  a well- 
meant  offering.  Especially  is  this  true  when  a pro- 
posed popular  gift  must  be  rejected  on  technical 
grounds.  But  we  have  learned  the  necessity,  if  we 
would  have  noble  cities,  of  offering  such  criticism 
fearlessly  and  of  making  an  artistic  condemnation 
authoritative.  We  have  perceived  that,  however 
unpleasant  the  task,  it  is  better  that  the  criticism  be 
made  in  advance,  in  time  to  prevent  the  public  mis- 
take, than  after  the  harm  has  been  done.  For  if  an 
ugly  structure  be  erected,  the  criticism  will  follow 
that  might,  by  coming  before,  have  saved  the  city 
an  eyesore  of  which  the  influence  will  reach  as  far  as 
the  structure  is  visible.  And  the  criticism  that  would 
have  ceased  as  soon  as  the  proposal  had  been  re- 
jected will  now  last  as  long  as  the  structure  lasts. 
If  in  the  decoration  of  our  cities  there  is  a great 
opportunity  for  good,  there  is  also  a great  power  for 
evil.  Modern  civic  art  recognises  and  perceives  that 
it  must  battle  against  this. 

There  is  need,  however,  of  the  courage  that  not 
merely  defends,  but  is  aggressive.  It  is  improbable 
that  popular  interest  in  the  embellishment  of  the  city 
would  be  discouraged  by  definite  suggestions.  If  the 
art  forces  of  an  urban  district  could  be  so  marshalled 
in  its  behalf  that  they  would  as  keenly  feel  the  re- 
sponsibility for  making  creative  suggestions  as  for  re- 
pressing the  crude  and  ill-advised,  there  surely  would 
be  a great  gain.  If  they  would  point  out  the  im- 
provement that  might  be  given  to  a city,  the  embel- 


aborning  with  fountains  anb  Sculpture,  175 

lishment  that  could  be  advantageously  placed  here 
and  there,  would  submit  designs  for  the  artistic 
treatment  of  the  public  areas,  would  designate  the 
proper  sites  for  sculpture  or  for  fountains,  popular 
interest  would  be  heightened  rather  than  diminished. 
Often  the  chief  bar  not  only  to  giving,  but  to  any 
interest,  is  the  lack  of  a convincing  because  concrete 
ideal. 

It  is  to  be  noted,  in  this  connection,  that  the  plac- 
ing of  the  city  ornament  is  as  vital  and  almost  as 
truly  an  artistic  matter  as  is  the  character  of  the  de- 
sign. The  question,  too,  is  one  regarding  which  the 
public  feels  less  diffidence  about  asserting  its  ability 
to  decide  than  regarding  the  design,  and  much  less 
doubt  concerning  its  right  to  an  opinion  and  to  hav- 
ing its  own  way.  The  expert  commissions  of  all 
kinds  have  learned  this  to  their  sorrow.  They  have 
had  to  solve  no  more  frequent  or  troublesome  pro- 
blems than  those  concerning  the  location  of  structures 
that  are  intended  to  be  civic  ornaments.  For  the 
design  that  would  be  artistic  and  beautiful  in  one 
place  may  be  ruined  by  location  in  another,  where  it 
is  out  of  scale  and  inharmonious  with  its  surround- 
ings. In  the  decoration  of  cities  the  place  for  each 
work  of  art  is  as  much  a question  for  artistic  judg- 
ment as  is  the  device  itself,  and  each  separate  case 
needs  as  certainly  a separate  decision.  One  may 
say,  indeed,  that  the  question  rises  also  in  regard  to 
every  public  or  semi-public  building,  in  regard  to 
every  structure  that  is  meant  to  be  an  ornament 


176 


fJDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


to  the  way.  But  in  these  cases  there  are  other  pur- 
poses to  be  served  as  well  as  those  of  ornament. 
The  question  is  complicated.  There  can  be,  then,  no 
more  distressing  failure  than  a civic  monument  raised 
to  adorn  the  city  and  failing  in  that  respect,  be  it 
through  faulty  design,  through  faulty  placing,  or 
through  both. 

There  are  certain  general  artistic  principles  that 
should  govern  the  placing  of  civic  sculpture,  such  as 
the  consistency  of  placing  the  ideal  in  an  idyllic 
scene,  and  the  sculptured  wild  animal  amid  less 
civilised  surroundings  than  the  business  street  — 
principles  that,  strangely,  are  more  marked  in  the 
breach  than  the  observance.  There  are,  again,  certain 
principles  that  may  be  called  civic,  such  as  a require- 
ment that  statues  of  only  universal  or  of  an  especial 
national  or  urban  interest  shall  be  placed  at  an 
intersection  of  important  thoroughfares,  and  that 
they  must  be  of  undoubted  beauty  and  appropriate 
in  size.  But  each  instance  will  require,  as  we  have 
said,  a separate  decision;  and  where  individual  beauty 
and  scale  are  factors  it  is  of  little  use  to  lay  down 
“general  principles.” 

This  only  should  be  said:  in  the  city,  the  bridge, 
the  viaduct,  the  open  space,  present  unusual  oppor- 
tunities, and  this  not  for  their  own  adornment  only 
but  for  that  of  the  streets  which  lead  to  them. 
Modern  civic  art  here  follows  in  the  steps  of  that  of 
all  the  ages.  It  is  making  no  experiment,  is  advanc- 
ing no  new  claim;  it  points  for  illustrations  of  its 


aborning  with  fountains  anb  Sculpture.  i 77 


possibilities  to  the  splendid  cities  of  all  times.  If  it 
has  a conquest  to  make,  it  is  only  with  regard  to 
obtaining  from  the  modern  bridges  their  just  tribute 
to  civic  decorativeness.  We  have  lately  turned  to  a 
new  material  in  the  making  of  bridges  for  cities  and 
as  usual  its  earlier  application  is  strictly  practical.  It 
happens,  too,  that  iron  and  steel  lend  themselves  to 
beauty  of  construction  far  less  readily  than  does  stone, 
so  that  there  is  need  of  constantly  impressing  the 
assthetic  obligation.  This  has  been  already  referred 
to  more  than  once.  The  point  to  be  made  here  is 
the  fitness  of  the  city  bridge  as  a site  for  sculpture. 

The  bridge  offers  in  its  own  construction  so 
admirable  a pedestal,  or  an  architectural  background 
so  excellent,  that  there  is  little  reason  for  surprise  in 
finding  it  considered  in  its  completeness  as  a monu- 
mental structure.  This  is  the  conception  which 
created  the  beautiful  Pont  Alexander  III.  in  Paris  and 
to  which  are  due  the  designs  for  memorial  bridges 
in  Washington.  Every  such  case  teaches  a lesson 
and  emphasises  the  appeal  that  civic  art  now  makes 
urgently  of  the  officials  of  town  and  city:  that  in  the 
making  of  a bridge-design  an  architect  at  least,  and 
perhaps  a sculptor,  shall  co-operate  with  the  engineer; 
and  that  the  structure  be  classed  among  the  works 
of  public  art  to  the  end  that  its  design,  which  is  to 
mean  so  much  to  the  aspect  of  the  city,  shall  have 
expert  artistic  criticism  before  it  is  approved.  In 
the  making  of  the  design,  too,  let  there  be  remem- 
brance that  here,  where  sufficient  space  can  be  given 

12 


I/S 


flfoobern  Civic  art. 


and  where  no  future  building  can  rise  to  destroy  the 
proportion  and  harmony  now  obtained,  is  one  of  the 
most  favourable  sites  for  civic  sculpture.  There  is 
only  one  location  that  may  be  better.  That  is  the 
square  or  open  space,  or  the  area  just  before  it,  where 
trees  and  shrubs  may  give  that  background  of  verdure 
by  which  some  sculpture  is  improved. 

Matters,  then,  which  civic  art  would  have  the 
builders  of  cities — which  is  to  say  all  the  urban 
residents  — keep  in  mind,  are  : (i)  the  wish  for,  and 
even  the  necessity  of,  frankly  intended  artistic  em- 
bellishment for  the  city;  and  (2)  the  eager  desire  to 
make  the  most  of  every  opportunity  for  securing 
this,  especially  where  space  can  be  afforded  with  no 
danger  of  unduly  crowding  the  public  way.  But  it 
would  point  out,  that  on  the  business  street  sculpture 
or  fountain  can  appear  as  little  more  than  incidental, 
while  in  the  open  space  or  on  the  bridge  it  can  be 
made  the  centre  of  a picture  of  which  every  detail 
adds  to  its  importance.  Finally,  it  is  necessary  that 
we  remember  how  the  artistic  factor,  not  less  as  to 
location  than  as  to  the  design,  must  be  guarded  with 
especial  zeal  in  the  case  of  that  which  is  avowedly 
intended  for  a civic  ornament.  In  that  specific  ins- 
tance civic  art  will  not  forgive  a failure.  Unless  the 
work  is  a success  aesthetically,  its  best  reason  for 
existence  has  passed. 

In  the  desire  to  give  to  a city  the  impress  of  art, 
there  arises  a tendency  to  choose  some  especially  well 
adapted  and  conspicuous  site  in  which  to  emphasise 


adorning  witb  fountains  and  Sculpture.  179 

this  quality.  The  result  is  the  creation  of  the  show 
place  of  the  city.  Here  the  municipal  architecture  is 
at  its  best,  here  sculpture  is  lavishly  provided,  here 
we  may  even  find  formal  balustrades  and  terraces. 
It  is  like  a stage  scene,  set  to  represent  the  majestic 
city’s  resources  and  pride.  Civic  art  has  here  full 
opportunity,  and  on  great  days  this  is  the  centre  to 
which  the  people  flock. 

The  tendency  is  not  peculiar  to  modern  con- 
ditions. It  is,  rather,  a seemingly  inevitable  result  of 
popular  interest  in  municipal  aesthetics;  and,  since 
modern  civic  art  still  is  young,  it  is  less  found  to-day 
than  in  the  days  when  earlier  civilisations  attained 
their  glory.  Such  a centre  was  the  Acropolis  at 
Athens,  such  was  the  Forum  in  Rome,  such  were 
market  places  in  the  Mediaeval  cities.  It  is  signi- 
ficant, then,  of  the  hold  of  civic  art  that  there  should 
be  a reappearance  of  the  tendency.  In  Paris  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde  is  such  a place;  in  London 
Trafalgar  Square  will  fairly  serve  for  one,  until  the 
completion  of  the  proposed  Victoria  Memorial  as  the 
state  processional  road  shall  render  a contracted 
makeshift  unnecessary;  in  Berlin,  the  Unter  den 
Linden  has  now  been  supplemented  by  the  Sieges 
Allee;  in  the  United  States,  the  “Court  of  Honour” 
at  the  Columbian  Exposition  was  a hint  that  has  had 
brief  following  in  the  temporary  creations  of  a score 
of  cities;  and  in  New  York  there  are  indications  that 
the  heights  of  Riverside  Drive  are  to  be  thus  con- 
stituted the  city’s  crown. 


180  flftobern  Civic  Hrt. 

Considered  in  the  abstract,  civic  art  would  with- 
hold its  unqualified  approval.  It  would  fear  lest  the 
city  as  a whole  might  suffer  from  a concentration 
of  the  decorative  emphasis.  It  would  prefer  a city 
beautiful  throughout  to  one  that  had  lavished  half 
of  all  its  splendour  on  a civic  centre.  But  practically 
there  is  to  be  recognised  the  extreme  difficulty  of 
diffusing  the  higher  expressions  of  civic  art  through- 
out the  city,  and  the  wearying  and  possibly  dis- 
couraging tediousness  as  well  as  the  arduousness  of 
the  process  — this  to  be  contrasted  with  the  spect- 
acular and  prompt  results  to  be  gained  by  concen- 
tration. And  once  such  a centre  of  decorativeness 
is  successfully  established  in  the  city,  there  is  no 
question  that  it  has  a beneficial  influence.  It  pre- 
sents a concrete  picture  that  elevates  the  popular 
ideal,  for  it  is  understood  by  the  unimaginative.  It 
stimulates  by  its  examples  of  what  has  actually  been 
achieved.  It  raises  the  aesthetic  level  of  the  sur- 
rounding streets. 

An  interesting  development  now  appears  in  the 
tendency  of  modern  civic  art  to  transform  this  civic 
centre  from  a plaza  to  a street.  An  ideal  location  for 
such  decorative  emphasis  is,  of  course,  the  square 
around  which  the  public  buildings  have  been 
grouped.  No  site  could  be  more  appropriate  than 
the  town’s  “ administrative  centre.”  But  the  trouble 
with  our  cities  is  that  there  rarely  is  an  “ adminis- 
trative centre,”  for  the  public  buildings  are  so  seldom 
grouped  about  an  open  space.  Civic  art  has  thus 


aborning  with  fountains  anb  Sculpture.  181 

been  unhappily  free  to  choose,  and  repeatedly  it  has 
selected  the  street  or  avenue.  Berlin  confirms  the 
Unter  den  Linden’s  suggestion  in  this  direction  by 
the  Sieges  Allee;  New  York  selects  Riverside  Drive; 
Boston  an  avenue;  the  new  Washington  is  thus  to 
develop  the  Mall.  Even  Paris  supplements  her  Place 
de  la  Concorde  with  the  Champs  Elysees.  The  re- 
sult has  at  least  the  merit  of  extending  its  field  of 
influence  and  of  stretching  out  — perhaps  to  widely 
different  quarters  of  the  town  — the  decorative  ef- 
fect. The  cities  of  to-day  have  grown  too  large  to 
gather  around  a single  little  central  square,  and  yet 
visibly  show  to  their  outer  rims  the  influence  of 
its  splendour. 

In  the  creation  of  the  Sieges  Allee  there  was  a pe- 
culiarity which  is  to  be  observed.  This  Avenue  of 
Victory,  with  its  abundant  verdure  and  noble  trees, 
was  already  beautiful.  The  Emperor  resolved  that  he 
would  here  glorify  his  ancestors,  adorning  Berlin  the 
while  and  patronising  the  art  of  sculpture,  by  giving 
to  the  nation  thirty-two  marble  groups  of  historical 
sculpture  and  stretching  them  along  the  avenue,  six- 
teen on  a side.  It  should  be,  indeed,  the  Sieges 
Allee.  Sculptors  were  selected  and  commissioned, 
and  in  the  course  of  seven  years  — at  the  end  of 
1901 — the  series  was  completed.  The  Emperor 
then  made  an  address  to  the  artists  who  had  served 
him,  and  in  this  he  emphasised  earnestly  the  point 
that  may  be  mentioned  here.  This  was  his  wish  to 
pose  in  his  imperial  capacity  as  a personal  patron  of 


lS2 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


the  arts;  and  to  prove,  by  the  success  of  the  under- 
taking, that 

the  most  favourable  auspices  for  the  solution  of  an  art  problem 
are  not  to  be  found  in  convoking  commissions  or  in  instituting" 
all  sorts  of  prize  juries  and  competitions,  but  rather  by  following 
the  old  and  approved  methods  of  Classical  times  and  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages  — I mean  those  direct  relations  between  him  who  gives 
the  order  and  the  artist.  ...  A parallel  might  be  drawn 
between  this  work  and  the  great  artistic  achievements  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  or  of  the  Italians,  where  the  ruler  and  sovereign, 
who  was  a lover  of  the  arts  and  who  set  the  artists  their  task, 
did  not  fail  to  find  the  maestros. 

impartial  critics  have  expressed  a doubt  as  to  the 
artistic  success  of  the  undertaking  having  been  great 
enough  to  “ prove  ” anything.  But  there  cannot  fail 
to  be  interest  in  so  conspicuous  a revival  to-day  of 
a characteristic  of  the  civic  art  of  the  Renaissance 
and  of  “ Classical  times.”  In  the  United  States  the 
tendency  is  strongly  in  favour  of  commissions  and 
limited  competitions,  as  perhaps  is  more  fitting  for  a 
democracy;  but  even  there  one  can  note  the  in- 
creasing frequency  with  which  individual  wealth  is 
identifying  itself  with  one  or  another  phase  of  art, 
and  how  frequently  in  the  smaller  towns  private 
fortune  becomes  the  patron  of  the  civic  art.  The 
best  progress  will  doubtless  be  made  when  the 
movement  gains  its  impulse  from  the  people.  But 
an  artistic  Renaissance  does  not  break  over  civilisa- 
tion with  all  the  suddenness  of  a tidal  wave.  It 
would  be  ushered  in  by  just  such  methods.  A few, 
who  are  on  the  mountain  heights,  will  be  the  first  to 


ie  Sieges  Allee,  Berlin. 


aborning  with  fountains  anb  Sculpture.  183 

see  in  concrete  form  the  storied  “ city  beautiful.” 
They  will  commission  the  artists  to  picture  the 
vision  to  the  toilers  who  are  still  in  shadow  — down 
in  narrow  streets  where  the  dawn  of  a new  day,  as 
it  gilds  the  roofs,  is  yet  unseen.  The  pictures  that 
these  artists  paint  will  educate,  reveal,  inspire. 
They  are  the  pioneers;  they  point  out  the  way;  and 
the  people  will  follow  so  joyously,  so  eagerly,  that 
from  the  people  themselves  there  will  come  new 
pioneers.  The  decoration  that  can  be  brought  to- 
day into  our  cities  is  thus  more  than  a conquest.  It 
is  a pledge  of  larger  victories. 


IN  THE  RESIDENTIAL  SECTIONS. 


M 


185 


CHAPTER  X. 

STREET  PLOTTING  AMONG  THE  HOMES. 

IN  the  discussion  of  modem  city-building,  we  may 
now  turn  from  the  distinctly  business  district 
to  the  distinctly  residential.  In  studying  the 
former,  we  found  that  the  focal  points  were  first  to 
be  considered.  Until  these  had  been  selected  as 
bases,  it  was  idle  to  give  thought  to  the  street  plan. 
The  moment  the  residential  area  is  entered,  these 
“nerve  centres”  become  too  distant  to  have  great 
influence.  In  their  place  the  district  contains  no 
points  of  general  command.  Instead,  a number  of 
local,  or  neighbourhood  centres  would  tend  to  have 
a disintegrating  effect  were  it  not  that  the  business 
part  of  the  town  still  acts  as  a magnet,  holding  the 
residential  area  about  itself  with  a firmness  that  al- 
most balances  the  decentralising  attractions  of  these 
and  of  the  country’s  spacious  beauty.  The  resid- 
ential district  is  thus  the  battlefield  of  two  forces, 
one  pulling  outward  and  one  pulling  in,  and  as  one 
or  the  other  is  stronger  there  is  crowding  or  roomy 

187 


1 88 


flfoobern  Civic  Hit. 


expansion.  This  is  a contest  to  be  kept  in  mind, 
for  it  makes  easier  of  understanding  many  urban 
peculiarities  that  may  properly  be  traced  to  these 
forces. 

When  the  walls  of  cities  came  down,  the  cen- 
tralising power  within  had  no  ally  pushing  from 
without;  when  the  lines  of  rapid-transit  were  laid, 
the  cords  that  pulled  men  to  the  centre  were  so 
loosened  as  to  pull  much  less  tightly;  when  indus- 
trial suburbs  were  created,  counter  attractive  mag- 
nets were  established;  when  the  business  part  of  the 
city  increased  in  brilliancy,  fascination,  and  splendour, 
the  centralising  power  was  in  its  turn  strengthened. 
So  the  fortunes  of  the  contest  have  varied,  and  even 
in  the  case  of  single  cities  there  is  little  uniformity  in 
results.  Here  we  find  compression  and  there  we 
find  expansion,  according  as  local  or  neighbourhood 
factors  influence  the  outcome,  until  the  residential 
parts  of  any  city,  taken  as  a whole,  can  be  said  to 
have  no  more  than  a similar  general  character. 

To  make,  now,  a practical  and  rational  plan  for 
these  sections  of  the  city,  it  is  necessary  to  appreci- 
ate the  contest  of  which  they  are  the  battleground. 
But  there  is  a need  of  doing  something  more  than 
that.  We  have  to  ask  ourselves  which  side  civic  art 
will  favour,  for  he  who  lays  out  the  streets  of  these 
districts  has  it  in  his  power  greatly  to  aid  or  obstruct 
either  tendency. 

Consideration  that  the  residential  area  is  where 
people  are  to  live,  are  to  build  their  homes,  let  their 


Street  plotting  among  tbe  Ibornea.  189 

little  children  play,  and  take  their  own  ease  when 
work  is  done,  removes  all  doubt  of  the  answer. 
Civic  art  would  have  as  much  room,  for  individual 
privacy  and  for  communal  beauty,  as  is  compatible 
with  the  impatient  demands  of  the  city’s  workaday 
centre.  The  first  question  becomes,  then,  how  can 
we  satisfy  the  demands  of  energy  and  labour  with 
least  sacrifice  of  the  reposeful  character  of  the  dis- 
trict ? This  must  be  answered  in  the  street  plan. 

It  is  clear,  at  least,  that  in  leaving  the  business 
district  and  entering  the  residential  we  are  con- 
fronted by  an  entirely  new  problem.  Not  only  is  it 
possible  to  imagine  a new  scheme  of  plotting,  but 
the  appearance  of  a new  purpose  makes  it  very 
desirable  to  do  so;  and  a change  in  basic  conditions 
— through  the  substitution  of  local  for  general  foci — - 
even  renders  unavoidable  a change  of  method.  At 
the  same  time,  the  one  system  must  be  joined  closely 
to  the  other  so  that  both  rest  on  a single,  solid  frame- 
work that  reduces  to  a minimum  the  expenditure  of 
force  in  transition  from  the  one  to  the  other;  and  it 
must,  further,  be  possible  for  the  business  district  to 
expand,  making  conquests  in  an  area  that  is  now  oc- 
cupied by  residences,  without  loss  of  its  own  con- 
venience. 

In  plotting  the  streets  of  the  business  district,  we 
found  that  the  first  essential  was  to  build  up  the 
framework,  or  skeleton,  of  arterial  thoroughfares.  In 
that  case  we  had  certain  focal  points  for  bases.  We 
lack  these  points  in  the  new  problem;  but  we  may 


190 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


extend  the  old  framework  founded  upon  them,  car- 
rying out  the  lines  until  they  form  the  structure  of 
the  new.  If  we  do  this,  we  shall  gain  the  three 
objects  that  we  most  desire  with  reference  to  the 
centre:  we  shall  unite  the  two  systems  so  that 
they  become,  or  seem  to  become,  one  harmonious 
scheme;  we  shall  establish  direct  lines  of  communi- 
cation with  the  business  district  as  a whole  and  with 
each  of  the  town’s  great  focal  points.  These  lines, 
again,  as  the  shortest  distance  from  the  residential 
arcs  of  the  circumference  to  the  business  centre,  will 
offer  the  natural  routes  for  travel  by  rapid-transit  or 
other  means.  They  will  be  the  great  “through 
lines  ” and  can  be  made  wide  in  accordance  with 
their  anticipated  usefulness.  Incidentally,  they  will 
thus  furnish  the  natural  lines  on  which  business  may 
extend  when,  outgrowing  its  present  quarters,  it 
tends  to  overflow  into  the  residential  district  — and 
so  there  will  be  gained  the  third  requisite  with  re- 
ference to  the  centre. 

We  shall  discover,  in  further  consideration,  that 
the  business  in  overflowing  through  these  streets 
does  the  slightest  possible  injury  to  the  character  of 
this  quiet  district.  In  brief,  the  line  of  least  resist- 
ance is  become  also  the  line  of  least  harm.  Our 
framework  of  radial  arterial  thoroughfares  is  substan- 
tially, if  indirectly,  a system  of  safety-valves  to  meet 
increasing  pressure  in  the  commercial  district.  We 
have  now  adopted  that  hint  for  a city  plan  which, 
as  Colonel  Waring  once  pointed  out,  is  contained  in 


Street  plotting  among  tbe  tbomes.  191 

the  spider’s  web.  In  this  the  quickest  way  of  reach- 
ing the  centre  from  any  given  point  is,  clearly, 
obtained;  and  in  the  plot  of  the  residential  section  of 
the  town  we  have  to  remember,  not  as  a pleasant 
but  as  a primary  fact,  that  time  is  money. 

In  the  establishment  of  these  radials  we  gain  yet 
another  advantage.  There  is  required  in  this  section 
the  provision  of  a large  number  of  neighbourhood 
foci,  instead  of  only  two- or  three  great  focal  points. 
That  is  to  say,  there  is  a demand  for  many  locally 
effective  sites.  The  public  buildings  of  the  district 
are  the  schools  and  churches,  the  sub-stations  of  the 
post-office,  of  the  police  and  fire  departments,  and 
the  branches  of  the  public  library.  All  of  these  de- 
mand convenient  situations  with  reference  to  the 
district  which  they  serve,  and  some  of  them  should 
have  also  conspicuous  sites,  for  the  aesthetic  value 
hardly  less  than  the  serviceability  of  public  structures 
depends  on  their  location.  The  radial  highways, 
inevitably  cutting  the  general  street  system  at  irregu- 
lar angles,  and  themselves  the  trunk  lines  of  daily 
travel,  will  of  necessity  offer  many  such  sites  of 
prominence.  These  locations  will  be,  also,  conven- 
ient of  access  — not  only  because  they  are  on  the 
trunk  lines,  which  are  broad,  direct,  straight,  and  of 
easy  grades,  but,  since  those  thoroughfares  are  de- 
signed for  lines  of  through  travel,  every  minor  street 
system  will  be  connected  with  its  own  particular 
artery  in  the  closest  and  most  immediate  way.  Thus 
any  structure  on  the  radial  streets  will  be  easy  of 


192 


HDobern  Civic  art. 


access  from  the  streets  on  either  side  of  it,  in  the 
district  it  would  serve. 

Except  for  the  almost  incidental  requirement  that 
there  shall  be  a possibility  of  effective  sites  for  the 
local  centres,  civic  art,  in  as  far  as  it  stands  for 
the  wish  for  urban  beauty,  has  been  as  yet  very 
quiet.  Its  own  first  demand  in  plotting  these  streets 
would  be  for  aesthetic  results.  It  would  seek  the 
restful,  lovely,  and  artistic  above  everything  else. 
But  municipal  art,  to  gain  its  ends,  must  have  the 
foundation  of  utility.  In  fact,  art  is,  first  of  all, 
the  doing  or  the  making  of  the  useful  thing  in  the 
best  possible  way.  That  art  which  has  to  do  with 
city-building,  therefore,  must  be  content,  when  tak- 
ing up  the  problem  of  a street  plan  for  the  resid- 
ential district,  to  learn  first  what  the  requirements 
of  usefulness  are;  and  then,  having  put  duty  be- 
fore pleasure  and  having  made  this  provision,  it 
will  do  the  best  it  can  to  stamp  the  whole  with 
beauty,  harmony,  and  repose,  and  to  give  to  refined 
individual  taste  opportunities  for  expression.  If 
modern  civic  art  failed  to  take  this  course,  its  own 
ends  would  be  defeated.  A beauty  gained  at  the 
expense  of  convenience  gives  no  pleasure,  and  the 
urban  beauty  with  which  we  would  surround  our 
homes  has  no  purpose  more  pressing  than  to  please. 

Happily,  the  essentials  from  a workaday  stand- 
point that  are  required  of  civic  art,  in  the  plotting 
of  these  streets,  amount  to  no  more  than  a conven- 
ient framework.  They  may  all  be  provided  without 


Street  plotting  among  tbe  Ibomes.  193 


injuring  the  attractiveness  of  the  district,  indeed, 
they  have  the  great  artistic  merit  of  giving  an  ap- 
pearance of  unity  to  a scheme  that  now  may  be 
varied  generously  in  its  details.  They  invite  also 
the  convenient  use  of  themselves  as  service  roads, 
whither  the  heavy  through  travel  and  the  main 
lines  of  urban  transportation  may  be  thrown,  leav- 
ing us  free  in  developing  the  intervening  areas  to 
consider  such  questions  as  grade  and  directness 
secondary  at  last  to  the  wish  for  beauty. 

At  liberty  now  to  seek  frankly  for  beauty,  we 
shall  recognise  the  charm  of  variety.  We  will  have 
broad  streets  and  narrow  streets,  straight  and  curv- 
ing ways,  and  regularly  built  up  districts  sprinkled 
through  with  open  spaces,  where  there  may  be 
playgrounds  for  children  or  gardens  for  the  delight 
of  all.  And  here  again  there  will  be  certain  funda- 
mental provisions,  carrying  a little  farther  the  frame- 
work of  the  streets.  There  will  be,  for  instance, 
at  least  one  broad  avenue,  intended  for  wealth  and 
fashion  and  on  which  there  will  be  no  lines  of 
rapid-transit,  and  where  heavy  teaming  will  be 
discouraged  if  not  indeed  forbidden.  There  will 
be,  in  this  avenue,  or  as  supplementary  to  it,  at 
least  one  parkway,  by  which  the  parks  will  be 
suitably  approached  and  the  beginning  of  their 
charm  brought  far  down-town.  There  will  be 
system  about  the  provision  of  the  open  spaces, 
their  number  will  be  sufficient  to  give  character 
to  the  district,  and  each  wiil  be  so  availed  of  in 


194 


fIDobern  Civic  Art. 


the  street  plotting  as  to  lend  the  maximum  of  effect 
to  the  streets.  This  means  that  there  will  be  arranged 
such  convergence  of  streets  to  each  of  them  that 
it  will  not  find  its  beauty  shut  in  by  building  walls, 
but  will  be  able  to  spread  its  pleasant  influence  far 
over  the  surrounding  area.  Instead  of  the  common 
appearance  of  haphazard  scattering,  there  will  seem 
to  be  a reason  for  the  exact  location  of  every  such 
open  space. 

The  discussion  of  the  treatment  of  the  spaces 
may  well  demand  a separate  chapter;  but  we  have 
to  recognise  here  the  necessity  for  their  generous 
provision.  They  are  to  be  the  gardens  for  those 
who  have  no  gardens  of  their  own;  they  are  to 
bring  into  the  vista  of  the  street  a new  and  unex- 
pected beauty;  they  are  to  vary  its  monotony,  to 
give  room  for  air,  invitation  to  idleness,  to  joy  in 
nature,  in  the  bloom  of  flowers,  the  song  of  birds, 
the  play  of  light  and  shadow,  and  the  wondrous 
poem  of  the  season’s  change  on  tree  and  shrub. 
They  are  to  make  provision,  in  the  fundamental 
structure  of  the  city,  and  on  a generous  and  com- 
prehensive scale,  for  the  sports  and  games  of  the 
children  who  will  be  living  near.  They  are  not 
to  be  added  as  luxuries;  there  should  not  be  need 
of  inserting  them,  at  great  cost,  vast  inconvenience, 
and  with  poor  effect  after  the  district  has  been  built 
up.  Modern  civic  art  has  behind  it  enough  expe- 
rience to  have  had  their  value  thoroughly  attested; 
and,  when  the  opportunity  arises  — as  it  often  must 


Street  plotting  among  tbe  Pomes.  195 

— to  include  them  in  the  original  street  plan,  to 
find  for  such  act  not  merely  ample  justification  but 
an  obligation  that  is  moral  and  civic  as  truly  as  it 
is  aesthetic. 

In  this  section  of  the  city,  too,  topography  be- 
comes a matter  of  extreme  importance.  In  the 
business  district,  where  speed  and  ease  of  transport- 
ation and  communication  were  primary  and  all-per- 
vading essentials,  difference  of  level  offered  only 
obstacles  to  that  flatness  which  was  to  be  desired 
that  grades  might  be  almost  avoided.  Here  ascent 
or  descent  may  be  one  of  the  greatest  charms  of  the 
way.  The  natural  contour  of  the  land  becomes  so3 
probable  and  powerful  an  aid  in  procuring  beauty 
and  individuality,  where  time  and  heavy  teaming 
have  no  longer  to  be  considered  seriously,  that  it 
has  been  well  said  that  no  precise  plan  for  a resid- 
ential part  of  a town  which  is  not  absolutely  flat  can 
be  devised,  with  satisfactory  results,  if  there  be  not 
thorough  knowledge  of  the  topography.  Nor  does 
this  relate  only  to  varying  elevations,  for  every 
natural  watercourse  may  present  an  opportunity. 
To  bring  out,  then,  in  the  street  plotting,  rather  than 
to  repress,  the  characteristic  native  beauty  of  the 
tract  should  be  one  of  the  first  aims  when  planning 
the  lesser  residential  streets.  And  if  this  be  well 
done,  the  beauty  which  is  thus  given  (or  permitted 
without  despoilment)  to  the  town  will  surely  stamp 
it  with  an  individuality  all  its  own. 

There  is  in  the  exhibition  of  deference  to  the 


196 


flDobern  Civic  Art. 


topography,  and  especially  with  reference  to  con- 
tour, a further  very  practical  advantage.  This  is 
economy  in  construction.  Clearly,  the  cost  of  push- 
ing streets  with  relentless  engineering  exactness  in 
undeviating  lines  through  a rocky  or  hilly  tract  must 
be  much  greater  than  if  they  were  allowed  to  follow 
the  lay  of  the  land.  Nor  is  the  difference  one  only 
of  construction,  for  where  there  are  deep  cuts  or 
steep  embankments  the  value  of  abutting  property 
is  seriously  depreciated,  if  not  almost  destroyed,  so 
that  it  cannot  justly  be  heavily  assessed  for  an  “im- 
provement.” Even  in  cases  where  the  established 
grade  departs  comparatively  little  from  the  actual 
level  of  the  land,  the  cost  of  cutting  and  filling 
within  the  lots,  when  houses  are  to  be  erected,  will 
amount  to  considerably  more  in  the  aggregate  than 
does  the  slight  addition  to  the  length  of  pavement, 
curb,  walk,  and  sewer,  which  is  to  say  of  the  street, 
that  is  occasioned  by  deviation  from  a rigid  straight 
line  or  by  following  the  natural  surface.  It  may  be 
added  that  filling  or  cutting  very  often  kills  tine 
trees  that  might  have  been  saved  had  the  street 
risen  or  fallen  a little  with  the  natural  contour,  or 
that  it  might  be  well  worth  while  to  swing  a street 
a bit  out  of  line,  if  so  a noble  tree  could  be  spared. 
It  will  not  be  necessary  always  to  climb  the  hills  at 
their  highest  point,  nor  to  descend  to  their  lowest 
valleys.  With  the  well-proved  charm  of  the  curv- 
ing street,  we  may  wind  around  the  hill  at  less  cost 
than  cutting  through  it  and  with  more  satisfaction  to 


Street  plotting  among  tbe  Ibomes.  197 


the  traffic  than  if  a shorter  distance  were  bought  by 
a steep  gradient.  There  is  too  often  need  of  learn- 
ing that  the  railroad  ideal  of  directness  and  an  un- 
varying elevation  is  unfitted  for  residential  streets, 
and  particularly  for  those  of  suburban  districts. 

The  value  of  the  curving  thoroughfare  where 
there  are  hills  to  be  surmounted  has  been  suggested, 
and  its  beauty  has  been  taken  almost  for  granted. 
It  will  be  well,  however, To  consider  with  something 
more  of  definiteness  these  claims  to  aesthetic  merit. 
They  are  not  dependent  merely  on  the  circumstance 
that  “the  curved  line  is  the  line  of  beauty.” 
That  alone  would  be  a point  in  its  favour1;  but, 
as  the  street  is  occupied,  other  advantages  appear. 
The  houses  show  far  better  on  a curved  than  on  a 
straight  line.  Each  advancing  step  discloses  a new 
view  of  the  fa9ade,  and,  in  fact,  more  than  one  face 
of  the  house  is  now  in  evidence.  Conversely,  the 
view  from  the  windows  is  much  pleasanter  if  the 
house  stand  on  a curving  street,  for  then  windows 
both  on  front  and  side  command  a vista  of  the  way. 
Building  operations,  whether  for  the  poorest  class 
of  homes  or  for  the  best,  are  more  likely  to  be  suc- 
cessful on  an  attractive  thoroughfare;  and  not  only 
is  there  no  need  for  most  houses  to  be  built  on 
straight  streets,  but  they  will  be  pleasanter  if  they 

1 Dr.  Charles  W.  Eliot,  in  his  book  on  the  life  and  work  of  his  son,  Charles 
Eliot,  Landscape  Architect,  quotes  Professor  William  James,  the  psychologist,  as 
saying,  after  he  had  lived  for  several  years  at  the  junction  of  two  curving  streets, 
“ that  the  daily  sight  of  the  curve  of  Scott  Street  added  much  to  the  pleasure  of 
living  in  his  house — or,  indeed,  in  the  neighbourhood." 


198 


flDofccrn  Civic  Hrt 


are  not.1  The  curving  street  has  the  better  chance 
for  picturesqueness,  and  at  any  point  the  curve 
brings  the  lawns  and  gardens  into  the  vista  of  the 
street,  giving  to  it  a very  pleasant  and  appropriate 
character  for  a street  of  homes,  and  there  is  assured 
a charming  variety  in  the  light  and  shade.  Finally, 
it  may  be  noted,  that  parks  and  open  spaces  with  a 
waving  boundary  line  are  more  attractive  than  if 
the  abutting  streets  marked  them  off  in  straight 
lines. 

The  curved  street  should,  of  course,  be  broader 
than  the  straight  one;  it  presents  some  sewerage 
problems  that  are  not,  however,  difficult;  and  if  the 
curve  be  sharp  the  street  should  not  be  very  long, 
lest,  instead  of  pleasing,  it  annoy  by  its  relatively 
extravagant  demand  on  time  and  space.  But  with 
these  warnings  the  curved  street  may  be  approved 
for  its  change,  even  though  a level  tract  does  not 
insist  on  its  adoption.  It  may  be  noted,  incidentally, 
that  in  our  imagined  plotting  of  the  residential  area, 
the  circle  that  the  latter  is  supposed  to  form  about 
the  centre  has  been  already  cut  into  small  arcs  by 
the  system  of  arterial  radials.  The  diversified  street 
systems  would  be  confined  between  consecutive 
radials,  so  that  the  length  of  curving  streets  would 
be  naturally  restricted. 

Perhaps  it  will  be  wise  here  to  turn  aside  from 
the  discussion  of  the  theory  of  street  plotting,  and 

1 Some  of  the  arguments  printed  here  are  borrowed  from  the  very  excellent 
special  report  of  the  City  Parks  Association  of  Philadelphia  (1902)  on  “The  City 
Plan.” 


Manning  Boulevard,  Albany,  N.  Y.  Suggesting  the  charm  of  the  curving  street. 


Street  plotting  among  tbe  twines.  199 

to  note  some  examples  that  concretely  illustrate 
abstract  contentions.  There  is  no  surer  means  to 
weigh  an  argument. 

Of  the  value  of  radial  thoroughfares,  for  the  main 
lines  of  urban  transit  and  direct  communication  with 
the  centre,  the  street  plan  of  Vienna  offers  a con- 
spicuous proof.  There  are  fifteen  main  radials,  and 
the  street  railways,  coming  in  by  these,  centre  their 
operations  on  the  inner  Ring.  It  is  said  that  in 
Vienna  the  daily  ebb  and  flow  of  population  takes 
place  with  greater  ease  than  in  any  other  large  city. 
The  street  plans  of  many  municipalities,  European 
and  American,  illustrate  the  usefulness  of  such 
streets  less  strikingly  only  because  they  illustrate 
it  in  part  — instead  of  as  a complete  system,  as  does 
Vienna.  Of  the  broad  avenues  planned  for  the 
residences  of  the  rich  and  fashionable,  of  the  park- 
ways carrying  the  approach  to  the  parks  far  down 
town,  and  of  the  boulevards,  there  are  many  exam- 
ples. Euclid  Avenue,  a street  that  early  gave  fame 
to  Cleveland,  Ohio,  is  a case  in  point;  or  better,  per- 
haps, is  the  lower  end  of  Commonwealth  Avenue  in 
Boston,  where  the  double  roadway  and  the  broad 
middle  strip  of  turf  and  trees  is  carried  so  far  into 
the  closest  built-up  residential  section  that  it  joins 
the  Public  Garden  and  the  Common  with  the  outly- 
ing parks,  so  that  one  may  walk  — if  he  will — from 
the  very  heart  of  business  Boston  on  a tapis  vert 
to  the  parks  that  girdle  the  city.  Such  another 
example  of  the  purpose  is  the  Avenue  des  Champs 


200  ffDobern  Civic  Hrt. 

Elysees  and  its  connecting  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne, in  Paris. 

And  from  what  might  have  been,  but  is  not,  we 
can  gain  a hint  of  the  value  of  such  provision.  The 
commissioners  who  laid  down  the  street  plan  of  New 
York  declared  at  the  outset  that  Fifth  Avenue  should 
be  the  middle  one  of  the  great  longitudinal  high- 
ways. Suppose  they  had  had  the  foresight  to  anti- 
cipate the  consequent  development  it  would  be 
likely  to  have,  and  had  had  the  courage  to  provide 
for  this  by  making  the  central  avenue  wider  than 
the  others, — broad  enough  for  trees,  and  perhaps  for 
a strip  of  turf, — how  magnificent  a change  would 
have  come  upon  New  York  ! In  Philadelphia  there 
has  been  earnest  proposal  that  the  present  street 
plan  be  rectified  in  this  respect,  and  a great  park- 
way be  cut  from  Fairmount  Park  to  the  City  Hall. 
It  is  considered  that  the  result  will  be  worth  the 
enormous  cost. 

As  to  the  squares  and  open  spaces  in  the  resid- 
ential portions  of  the  city,  the  plan  of  Washington 
will  at  once  suggest  itself.  Here,  each  formal  space 
of  turf, — square  or  circle,  as  the  case  may  be, — 
flower-jewelled  and  statue-crowned,  is  made  a centre 
of  converging  streets. 

Coming  now  to  curving  streets,  Vienna,  Paris, 
Brussels,  Florence,  or  many  another  ancient  city  that 
has  been  modernised,  furnishes  — having  availed 
itself  of  the  opportunity  offered  by  a demolition  of 
its  old  confining  walls  — an  example  of  long  boule- 


Street  plotting  among  tbe  Ibomes.  201 

vards  circling  in  slow  curve  the  city  area.  In  the 
United  States  the  corresponding  thoroughfares  — as 
in  Chicago,  for  instance  — have  been  often  developed 
as  parkways.  There  is  much  to  commend  the 
establishment  of  these  encircling  streets,  offering  as 
they  do  such  convenient  routes  for  belt-line  travel, 
joining  radial  directly  with  radial,  and  forming  circles 
of  street  pretentiousness  and  beauty  in  concentric 
rings  around  the  urban  district.  But  for  example 
of  the  more  picturesque,  because  shorter  and  more 
sharply  curving,  streets,  it  is  not  so  easy  to  point 
to  thoroughfares  of  world-wide  reputation.  These 
must  be,  as  in  our  plotting  theory,  the  minor  ways. 
But  in  England  we  may  note,  for  instance,  the 
pretty  streets  of  Edgbaston,  a suburb  of  Birming- 
ham; and  in  the  United  States  those  that  make  so 
lovely  the  towns  and  little  cities  which  constitute  the 
“metropolitan  district”  of  Boston.  From  Boston, 
too,  we  may  draw  one  example  that  is  justly  becom- 
ing widely  known.  This  is  in  the  long  suburban  ex- 
tension of  Commonwealth  Avenue,  now  stretching 
its  sinuous  length  many  miles  into  the  country.  But 
aside  from  the  sinuosity  of  the  street,  a succession 
of  lovely  curves  applied  to  an  avenue  of  stately 
width  and  exceptionally  long  and  elaborate  surface 
development,  this  highway  might  well  demand 
attention.  It  is  a most  striking  illustration  of  a 
street  following  the  natural  contour  of  the  land.  It 
rises  and  falls  with  the  gentle  hills  and  valleys  of  the 
region  through  which  it  passes,  and  discloses  at 


202 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


every  turn  and  every  changing  level  a new  beauty. 
There  are  innumerable  small  examples  of  the  attract- 
iveness of  such  street  plotting,  but  here  is  one  so 
great  and  conspicuous  that  it  may  be  cited  for  all. 

There  should  be  consideration  now  of  the  width 
of  the  minor  residential  streets.  In  discussing  the 
plotting  of  the  business  district,  it  was  observed  that 
a narrow  thoroughfare  might  be  considerably  wid- 
ened, as  far  as  effectiveness  goes,  by  thrusting  back 
the  building  line.  In  a district  where  the  construc- 
tion seldom,  or  it  may  be  never,  covers  half  the 
entire  building  lot,  it  is  very  easy  to  push  back  this 
line  without  injury  to  the  lot  owner,  and  indeed 
with  such  benefit  to  the  street  as  to  profit  him. 
This  fact  makes  narrowness  on  these  minor  streets, 
which  have  no  through  travel,  a matter  much  less  to 
be  dreaded  than  in  the  business  district,  while  to  re- 
commend it  there  is  the  circumstance  that  a narrow 
roadway  costs  so  much  less  than  a broad  one  to 
construct  and  maintain  that  the  same  expenditure 
will  furnish  a better  pavement  and  keep  it  cleaner. 
There  are,  however,  three  questions  to  be  asked 
in  determining  the  width  of  a minor  residential 
street:  (i)  Is  there  locally  the  legal  power  to  estab- 
lish a building  line?  (2)  Is  there  a probability  that 
with  the  growth  of  the  city  and  the  extension 
of  its  business  centre  the  street  may  be  required 
for  trade  or  industry?  (3)  Would  it  be  desirable, 
even  if  there  were  not  that  danger,  to  plan  a broader 
street  and  so  have  room  for  parking? 


Street  plotting  among  tbe  Ibotnes.  203 


The  surface  development  of  the  street  need  not 
be  here  discussed;  but  it  is  evident  that  a consci- 
entious putting  of  any  one  of  these  questions  may 
demand  a wide  street.  If  there  be  not  authority  to 
establish  the  building  line,  there  is  more  or  less 
danger  that  some  of  the  construction  will  be  at  the 
street’s  edge.  This  means,  if  the  way  be  narrow, 
lack  of  air  and  sunshine  and  a consequent  tendency 
ultimately  to  squalor.  If  the  business  does  over- 
flow on  to  a narrow  street,  jagged  lines  will  mark 
the  transition.  Commercial  structures,  often  of  a 
cheap  and  undesirable  aspect,  will  be  built  out  to 
the  walk,  while  the  better  residences,  recessed  back 
at  irregular  intervals,  will  be  hidden.  The  full  con- 
quest of  the  street  by  business  will  mean  serious 
crowding  on  the  narrow  walks  and  cramped  road- 
way. None  of  these  results  can  be  contemplated 
with  pleasure  by  modern  civic  art.  All  must  be 
averted. 

In  closing  this  discussion,  a word  should  be  said 
of  its  pertinence.  While  that  tendency  which  is 
called  the  modern  urban  drift  continues,  there  can 
hardly  be  found  a town  or  city  that  is  finished.  In 
the  business  portions  of  the  settlement,  growth  will 
generally  mean  remodelling  — a process  sadly  handi- 
capped by  previous  conditions,  and  slow  and  costly. 
In  the  residential  portions  also  there  will  be  some 
remodelling;  but  for  the  most  part,  as  far  as  street 
plotting  is  concerned,  growth  here  will  mean  ad- 
dition. There  will  be  free  play  for  theory;  and  it  will 


204 


flftobem  Civic  Hrt. 


be  a pity  if  no  beauty  is  brought  into  the  street 
plan,  through  study  of  the  science  — the  considerate 
reasonableness  — and  the  art  of  municipal  aesthetics. 
On  the  borders  of  every  city,  and  even  within  the 
borders,  there  is  a constant  opening  of  new  tracts. 
These  present  opportunities  by  wise  plotting  for 
gaining  picturesqueness  and  variety.  Often  the 
problem  offered  by  such  a tract  may  be,  and  has 
been,  solved  with  better  effect,  both  aesthetically 
and  financially,  by  giving  a chance  to  the  landscape 
architect  than  by  leaving  the  design  to  an  engineer. 
For  once  the  main  through  lines  are  laid  down,  the 
leading  avenues  provided,  and  the  open  spaces  ap- 
portioned systematically  through  the  district,  the 
short  streets  that  fill  up  the  little  arcs  and  in  the  ag- 
gregate contain  so  many  houses,  should  have  the 
picturesqueness  and  variety  of  individuality  of  ex- 
pression. It  should  be  possible  here,  where  the 
homes  are,  to  get  away  from  the  depressing  mono- 
tony of  a uniform  system.  Experience  is  every- 
where teaching  the  lesson  of  the  popularity  of  this 
course,  by  the  higher  prices  that  lots  in  such  sur- 
roundings bring,  and  by  the  better  class  of  dwellings 
erected  in  these  tracts. 

As  to  remodelling,  it  is  a mistaken  idea  that  an 
adopted  city  plan  cannot  be  changed,  or  that  a vast 
amount  of  energy  is  required  to  change  it.  The 
plan  is  changed  constantly.  The  same  power  that 
adopts  the  map,  usually  the  municipality’s  legislative 
body,  can  alter  it  by  an  ordinance,  and  the  result  in 


Street  plotting  among  tbe  Ibomes.  205 


most  large  cities  is  almost  a daily  changing  of  plotted 
streets,  or  a vacating  of  those  that  have  been  already 
opened.  To  make  these  changes  worth  while  is  the 
harder  task,  and  the  task  of  civic  art.  It  is  one, 
however,  to  be  undertaken  not  merely  with  the 
courage  born  of  confidence,  but  with  an  unwonted 
zeal.  For  what  higher  call  has  civic  art  than  to 
make  beautiful  the  surroundings  of  the  homes  of 
men;  to  make  refined,  lovely,  and  truly  lovable, 
that  environment  in  which  they  have  leisure  for 
enjoyment  or  for  misery,  and  where  are  reared  and 
taught  by  sense  impressions  the  children  who  will 
be  the  future  citizens  ? 


CHAPTER  XI. 

ON  GREAT  AVENUES. 

TWO  great  groups  or  kinds  of  streets  have  ap- 
peared in  the  discussion  of  the  topographical 
plotting  of  a city’s  residential  area.  They 
are  the  great  avenues,  forming  the  skeleton  or  frame- 
work of  the  district,  and  the  minor  streets  that  til!  in 
the  system’s  details.  Of  each  group  there  are  sub- 
divisions. The  minor  streets  are  of  wide  variety. 
The  great  avenues  include  the  encircling  boulevards, 
the  radials  that  bear  the  heavy  travel  to  and  from 
the  centre,  the  broad  streets  set  apart  for  the  grand- 
est residences,  and,  by  our  earlier  classification,  the 
parkways  that  offer  suitable  approaches  to  the  parks 
and  stretch  enticing  suggestions  of  park  beauty  far 
into  the  busy,  workaday  sections  of  the  town. 
These  parkways  are  not,  however,  to  be  treated 
quite  as  streets.  Their  very  name  conveys  a hint 
that  in  considering  the  development  of  the  thorough- 
fares another  classification  will  be  now  convenient. 
We  shall  take  the  parkways  from  the  group  of  great 


®n  ®reat  avenues. 


207 


avenues,  as  having  a kinship  nearer  to  the  park  sys- 
tem than  to  that  of  the  streets,  and  give  to  them  a 
later  study.  For  the  present  the  group  comprising 
the  principal  highways  of  the  residential  section  may 
be  considered  as  composed  of  the  encircling  boule- 
vards, the  radials,  and  the  finer,  in  the  sense  of  the 
more  pretentious,  residential  streets. 

The  first  duty  of  the  thoroughfares  contained  in 
such  a group  is  to  afford  ease  of  communication. 
This  has  been  already  looked  after  in  the  plotting, 
and  it  is  mainly  by  virtue  of  the  excellence  with 
which  they  do  this  that  it  becomes  possible  to 
describe  these  streets  as  prominent.  The  second 
requirement  is  that  they  shall  have  a certain  digni- 
fied and  stately  beauty.  In  the  business  district, 
architectural  magnificence  and  civic  splendour  of 
decoration  is  largely  depended  upon  to  make  the 
thoroughfares  handsome.  In  the  residential  quarters, 
where  the  decreased  relative  importance  of  the 
buildings  will  not  justify  the  placing  of  the  depend- 
ence for  stately  street  effects  upon  the  architecture, 
there  is  need  that  beauty  be  brought  into  the  street 
itself.  To  consider  how  this  may  here  be  done  is 
logically  civic  art’s  next  step. 

The  necessity  of  affording  ease  of  communication, 
and  of  adapting  the  facilities  to  comparatively  long- 
distance travel,  has  made  certain  characteristics 
obligatory  in  these  streets.  These  are  breadth;  and, 
in  the  case  of  the  radials  at  least,  and  very  often  of 
the  encircling  boulevards,  a provision  for  car  tracks. 


208 


flDo&crn  Civic  Hrt. 


The  requirement  of  breadth  is  favourable  rather  than 
otherwise  to  the  attainment  of  that  stately  beauty 
which  is  desired.  The  inner  and  outer  boulevards 
encircling  Paris  have  an  average  width  of  one  hund- 
red and  forty  feet  throughout  their  twenty  miles. 
In  a couple  of  districts,  for  a total  distance  of  four 
miles,  there  is  a width  of  two  hundred  and  forty 
feet.  The  Avenue  des  Champs  Elys6es  is  two  hund- 
red and  seventy-five  feet  wide.  If  all  this  width 
were  required  to  accommodate  the  traffic,  the  condi- 
tion would  be  discouraging  in  the  extreme.  But 
the  invitation  to  breadth,  naturally  and  appropriately 
extended  by  the  present  and  prospective  traffic,  is 
supplemented  so  earnestly  by  a desire  to  emphasise 
the  importance  of  the  streets’  relation  to  the  general 
system,  and  to  render  them  stately  and  beautiful, 
that  there  is  often  given  a greater  width  than  the 
necessities  of  mere  transportation  require.  Land  is 
not  so  needed  for  building  purposes  in  the  region 
through  which  they  pass  as  to  make  such  sacrifice 
of  space  too  dear  for  the  results  obtained.  So  we 
find  provided,  almost  as  a matter  of  course  on  these 
streets,  the  breadth  which  is  often  desired  vainly  in 
the  business  district,  where  it  might  have  done  so 
much  to  accommodate  the  traffic  and  to  give  an  air 
of  civic  magnificence. 

The  necessity  of  arranging  for  car  tracks  on  many 
of  the  streets  of  this  group  would  seem  a less  happy 
condition,  but  it  is  possible  to  provide  them  in  such 
a way  as  to  involve  little  injury  to  the  appearance  of 


©n  (Sreat  avenues. 


209 


the  street.  It  should  be  said  that  the  rapid-transit 
facilities  offered  by  these  thoroughfares  will  be  con- 
fined, as  far  as  visible  apparatus  goes,  to  the  surface. 
The  noisy  and  ugly  elevated  railroad  will  not  be 
suffered  to  destroy  all  the  potential  majesty,  or  even 
attractiveness,  of  the  way;  and  if  there  be  under- 
ground construction,  there  will  be  nothing  of  it 
apparent,  save  an  occasional  station  which  is  artistic 
in  design  and  so  situated  as  not  to  block  the  street, 
or  even  to  seem  to  do  so.  For  rapid-transit  on  the 
surface  — which,  as  the  natural  method,  promises  to 
be  always  the  pleasantest  and  most  popular  — we 
may  assume  electric  power.  It  has  been  said  that 
Frederick  Law  Olmsted  was  the  first  one  frankly  to 
accept  the  car  tracks  as  a permanent  feature  of  the 
avenue  and  one  that  could  and  should  be  turned  to 
decorative  purpose.  On  the  Beacon  Street  Boule- 
vard, Boston,  he  arranged  that  the  tracks  should  be 
thrown  into  a separate  turf-planted  strip  at  the  road’s 
border,  where  only  the  gleaming  lines  of  steel  would 
show  upon  the  greensward.  The  advantages  were 
not  confined  to  the  appearance  of  the  street.  They 
included  a lessening  of  noise  and  dust,  and  a possibil- 
ity of  greater  speed,  and  so  evident  were  these  gains 
that  the  plan  was  adopted  far  and  wide,  and  regard- 
less of  the  location  of  the  strip  — whether  at  an  edge 
of  the  road,  at  each  side,  or  in  its  centre. 

The  system  in  use  on  the  Beacon  Street  Boulevard 
is  the  overhead  trolley,  as  we  have  to  suppose  — at 
this  writing  — that  it  usually  will  be  on  long  routes 


210 


flDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


that  are  not  closely  built  up.  Modern  civic  art  of 
course  looks  forward  to  the  day  when,  the  wires  of 
the  trolley  underground  or  a storage  battery  in  use, 
there  will  be  no  need  of  a double  column  of  frequent 
sentinel  posts  to  mar  the  street  prospect.  Here  and 
there  the  vision  is  already  realised,  but  where  its 
realisation  is  delayed,  the  use  of  a separate  strip  of 
greensward  for  the  cars  can  be  made  an  effectual 
means  of  reducing  the  injury  of  the  posts.  They 
may  then  be  placed  down  the  centre  of  the  strip, 
with  an  arm  outstretched  over  either  track  — a device 
that  substitutes  a single  for  the  double  row,  that  does 
away  with  guard  wires,  and  that,  by  its  essential 
symmetry,  is  more  favourable  to  artistic  design  than 
the  posts  at  the  track’s  edge.  Or,  on  this  separate 
strip,  there  may  be  such  planting  as  to  make  side 
posts,  when  painted  an  unobtrusive  green,  scarcely 
noticeable  features  in  the  scene.  It  may  be  that  vines 
can  be  trained  over  them,  or  festooned  from  post  to 
post  to  form  an  effective  and  pretty  barrier  between 
the  carriage  road  and  the  tracks,  when  the  street  has 
left  the  stone  of  the  city  far  enough  behind  to  make 
such  treatment  appropriate.  Then  the  posts  become 
only  details  of  a thoroughly  pleasing  composition. 
And  before  the  vines  are  thus  made  use  of,  there  may 
be  upon  the  edge  of  this  grassy  strip  a planting  of 
shrubs  and  bushes  that  will  more  than  half  conceal 
the  posts,  and  transfer  attention  from  them  to  the 
surpassing  beauty  of  the  plants  with  their  varied 
loveliness  of  flower  and  twig.  Until  business 


©n  (Breat  avenues. 


2 I I 


marches  upon  the  radial  and  renders  incongruous  the 
strip  of  greensward,  and  is  covetous  of  the  space 
thus  occupied,  there  is  no  reason  why  the  tracks  of 
the  street  railroad  should  not  have  such  setting  as 
will  make  them  a decorative  adjunct  of  the  street. 

It  appears,  then,  that  neither  requirement  which 
utility  may  make,  in  even  its  most  exacting  mood, 
of  these  leading  thoroughfares  need  prove  antagon- 
istic to  their  handsome  development.  The  great 
thing  is  to  determine  that  the  streets  shall  be  hand- 
some, that  they  shall  be  handsome  considered  by 
themselves  and  irrespective  of  whatever  buildings 
may  be  put  along  their  borders.  We  must  take  the 
purely  civic  point  of  view  and  demand  that  the  city 
in  its  corporate  capacity,  independent  of  anything 
that  individuals  may  do,  shall  lay  down,  as  the  lead- 
ing thoroughfares  of  its  residential  district,  streets 
that  are  worthy  of  the  highest  development  streets 
can  have.  We  should  realise  that  it  is  shameful, 
disgraceful  to  the  high  selflessness  of  the  sociology 
of  brotherhood  — which  may  be  called  the  modern 
religion  — that  large  groups  of  men  should  be  care- 
less regarding  the  street  on  which  they  occupy 
splendid  homes.  When  noble  houses  replete  with 
comforts  are  erected  on  streets  devoid  of  beauty,  and 
there  is  no  effort  to  supply  the  omission,  there  is 
given  an  evidence  that  something  is  the  matter  with 
the  occupants.  The  obvious  fault  of  the  city  in  per- 
mitting this  neglect  may  reasonably  be  laid  to  their 
own  doors.  They  publish  broadcast  their  lack  not 


2 12 


flDobeni  Civic  Hrt. 


of  public  spirit  only,  nor  merely  of  civic  spirit,  but 
even  of  neighbourhood,  or  social,  spirit.  They  live 
for  themselves  alone,  and  with  so  little  foresight  as 
not  to  see  that  what  one  has  done  for  one’s  city  one 
has  done  for  one’s  self  and  one’s  home. 

Assuming,  then,  a desire  to  have  these  streets 
stately  and  worthy,  we  find  that  the  attractiveness 
of  a leading  residential  thoroughfare,  its  own  lines  — 
as  to  directness,  length,  and  breadth  — having  been 
properly  laid  down,  will  depend  on  the  following 
elements:  the  pavement  and  sidewalks;  the  street 
furnishings;  the  use  of  vegetation,  in  street  trees  and 
turf;  the  building  along  the  street’s  borders;  and  the 
street’s  adornment  for  adornment’s  sake  alone. 

It  will  hardly  be  called  the  duty  of  civic  art  to 
determine  the  character  of  the  street  pavement,  but 
there  must  be  requirement  that  it  be  well  laid  and 
well  maintained  both  as  to  cleanliness  and  repair. 
Civic  art  will  even  go  so  far  as  to  advocate  a com- 
parative noiselessness.  The  glory  of  the  modern 
feature  in  our  civic  Renaissance  is  that  such  require- 
ments as  these  can  now  be  taken  for  granted.  No 
civic  art  of  other  times  has  rested  on  so  firm  and 
elemental  a foundation.  Storied  Carthage,  splendid 
Athens,  kingly  Alexandria,  imperial  Rome,  the 
Florence  of  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent,  the  Bruges  and 
Ghent  of  the  Northern  Renaissance  — none  of  these 
considered  the  pavement  under  the  horses’  feet  a 
prerequisite  to  their  civic  art.  Even  a sidewalk  was 
rare.  We,  on  the  other  hand,  do  not  begin  to  talk 


®n  (Sreat  avenues. 


213 


of  civic  art,  if  we  are  logical,  until  the  street  is  paved 
and  clean. 

The  walk,  since  it  may  become  a decorative  ele- 
ment of  the  street,  may  demand  more  attention  than 
the  paving  of  the  roadway.  The  opportunity  will 
often  come  when,  beneath  a long  row  of  trees,  there 
may  be  a walk  of  fine  gravel  or  well  packed  dirt. 
After  the  hard  pavement  of  the  business  streets,  there 
could  be  no  change  which  is  at  once  practicable  and 
so  pleasant.  But  commonly,  in  the  damp  and  rigor- 
ous climate  with  which  many  cities  must  do  bat- 
tle, there  is  need  of  a footing  that  is  dryer  and  more 
substantial.  The  prepared  stone,  or  cement,  walks- 
that  have  lately  come  widely  into  use  make  a hum- 
ble, but  certain,  contribution  to  municipal  ^esthetics. 
One  who  has  written  and  thought  much  on  town  and 
city  improvement  has  well  said1  : there  is  “nothing 
more  agreeable  for  eye  or  foot  than  long  stretches  of 
granolithic  walk,  commonly  laid  with  broad  margins 
of  turf  on  either  hand,  the  smooth,  clean  light-gray 
in  beautiful  contrast  with  the  velvety  verdure.  And 
there  is  no  surer  way  to  save  the  precious  grass  from 
trampling  feet  than  to  give  it  such  a footway  neigh- 
bour.” In  the  residential  area,  even  on  these  lead- 
ing streets  of  it,  there  are  no  other  kinds  of  walk 
to  be  advocated.  If  the  demand  of  pedestrianism 
be  light,  these  can  make  for  it  the  lightest  pro- 
vision. If  it  be  heavy,  they  can  be  made  broad  to 

1 See  series  of  articles  in  The  Century  Magazine,  1902-1903,  by  Sylvester 
Baxter. 


flDobern  divic  art. 


214 

care  for  it.  They  are  easier  to  the  feet  than  the  great 
stone  flags  of  the  business  district;  and  if  the  lat- 
ter were  carried  into  the  residential  portions,  one  of 
pedestrianism’s  pleasantest  marks  of  the  transition  — 
the  change  from  stone  walks  to  these  softer  ways 
with  their  lovely  grass  borders  — would  be  lost. 

Of  the  furnishings  of  these  streets  there  is  small 
occasion  to  speak  now,  for  civic  art’s  ideals  in  this 
regard  have  been  pointed  out  in  discussing  the  busi- 
ness thoroughfares.  For  the  most  part,  the  furnish- 
ings are  the  same  — the  street  lights,  the  street  name 
signs,  the  possible  poles  for  trolley  or  other  wires,  the 
flag-staffs  that  should  be  made  architectural  adjuncts 
of  the  buildings  they  are  erected  in  connection  with 
or  else  frankly  decorative  features,  the  fire-alarm 
and  mail  boxes,  etc.  If  it  be  the  ideal  of  civic  art 
that  these  furnishings  have  artistic  design,  that  they 
be  made  to  harmonise  with  their  surroundings,  and 
be  treated,  hence,  as  distinct  problems  in  distinct 
portions  of  the  city,  there  will  arise  a need,  no 
doubt,  for  new  designs  when  we  come  into  the  main 
avenues  of  the  residential  district,  but  hardly  for  new 
discussion  until,  by  a definite  street  or  city,  a con- 
crete problem  is  presented. 

On  these  avenues,  however,  there  may  be  wanted 
some  furnishings  that  had  not  been  required  by  the 
business  streets.  Such  are  seats  placed  at  intervals 
along  the  way.  The  necessity  or  advantages  of 
these  will  be  considered  appropriately  when  we 
come  to  the  trees  and  turf.  It  is  enough  now  to 


©n  (Breat  avenues. 


215 


note  that  civic  art  will  not  observe  their  desirability 
alone,  but  will  be  keen  to  see  if  they  be  of  appro- 
priate design  and  colour,  so  that  they  blend  harmoni- 
ously into  the  scene,  and  that  they  are  kept  in 
repair.  “ Out  at  elbows,”  as  the  saying  is,  is  a con- 
dition that  no  town  with  pretensions  to  civic  art  can 
anywhere  permit.  In  European  cities  (as  Paris) 
where  the  provision  and  rental  of  some  of  the  chairs 
on  the  public  way  is  a “ concession  ” let  by  the 
municipality  to  private  contractors,  a clause  of  the 
agreement  requires  that  the  seats  conform  to  a 
model  approved  by  the  administration  and  be  al- 
ways in  repair.  The  attitude  uniformly  adopted  by 
civic  art  to  all  the  details  of  street  furnishing  will  be 
one  of  deep  respect.  Far  from  considering  these 
beneath  its  notice,  it  will  see  in  them  the  opportunity 
to  complete,  for  comparatively  trifling  sums,  pictures 
that  are  grandiose  in  scale  but  that  will  never  per- 
form their  full  function  until  so  perfected.  Many  a 
noble  building,  many  a lovely  square,  many  a stately 
street  is  marred,  after  vast  expenditure,  by  the  lack 
of  that  little  additional  care  and  that  small  extra 
expense  that  would  have  finished  worthily  the 
decoration. 

Coming  now  to  the  use  that  is  made  of  vegetation 
on  the  great  highways  of  the  residential  area,  we 
reach  their  most  distinguishing  feature.  Nothing  at 
once  separates  them  so  markedly  from  the  other 
streets  of  the  city  — in  both  its  business  and  resi- 
dential sections  — or  gives  to  them  a character  so 


flDobern  Civic  Hit. 


2l6 

instantly  and  strikingly  their  own  as  does  this.  Few 
things,  also,  mark  more  distinctly  the  modernness 
of  our  civic  art.  The  great  avenues  will  often  have 
turf— even  if  it  be  only  between  car  tracks — and  rows 
of  trees.  Frequently  there  will  be  a middle  strip 
planted  with  the  latter.  The  city  that  was  once 
forced  to  shutout  the  country  with  wall  and  bastion 
throws  open  the  gates  and  levels  the  walls,  counting 
now  no  ornament  of  its  proudest  ways  more  precious 
than  carefully  tended  nature  can  give. 

The  whole  conception  of  the  street  changes.  It  is 
probable  that  outside  of  their  public  squares  no  paral- 
lel is  offered  in  the  ancient  cities.  The  way  is  no 
longer  a mere  means  of  communication.  Even  the 
great  radials  of  the  residential  area,  which  are  so 
primarily  this,  find  their  development  modified  by 
the  new  idea.  It  becomes  possible  to  class  them, 
trunk  lines  of  travel  as  they  are,  with  the  parkways 
and  noble  residential  avenues.  The  new  idea  is  to 
make  an  open-air  salon  of  the  street;  and  these  thor- 
oughfares that  are  not,  on  the  one  hand,  choked 
with  travel  and  wearisome  with  the  press  and  din 
of  business,  nor  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  minor  ways 
dull  with  a lack  of  life  and  motion, — these  avenues, 
with  their  constant  movement  and  gaiety,  their  ebb 
and  flow  of  passing  that  is  animated  but  without 
the  rush  of  desperation,  these  are  the  ideal  location 
for  the  “ open-air,  public,  parlours.” 

The  conception  came  from  the  Continent  of  Eu- 
rope, apparently,  where  soft  airs  and  sunny  days  in 


©n  (Breat  avenues. 


217 


long-continued  sequence  offer  irresistible  invitations 
to  an  out-of-doors  life.  The  alamedas  of  Spain  and 
her  colonies  are  broad  walks  shaded  with  trees, 
bordered  with  carefully  nurtured  grass,  shrubs,  and 
dowers,  with  rows  of  chairs  or  benches.  All  day  and 
evening  happy  throngs  stroll  up  and  down  or  loll 
upon  them.  No  sports  or  games  are  here,  except 
the  ever-changing  game  of  life.  The  smooth,  dust- 
less driveway  that  is  often  part  of  the  alameda  is 
thronged  at  certain  hours  with  slowly  moving  lines 
of  carriages.  Their  occupants  are  the  players  to  the 
gaily  chatting  multitudes  upon  the  walk;  just  as  the 
latter  are,  in  their  turn,  the  players  to  these  spectat- 
ors in  the  carriages.  In  Paris,  and  the  cities  of 
France  that  copy  her,  men  sit  at  little  tables  in  the 
street  so  long — eating,  drinking,  smoking,  reading 
the  papers,  and  watching  the  life  of  the  way  — that 
it  is  impossible  to  dissociate  the  boulevards  from  the 
“ boulevardiers.”  And  here  again,  for  the  pleasure 
of  the  people,  the  streets  are  lined  with  trees,  with 
now  and  then  a strip  of  verdure  under  foot.  Again, 
too,  in  Hungary,  South  Germany,  or  Austria,  no 
restaurant  can  succeed  if  it  have  not  seats  for  its 
patrons  out-of-doors,  and  there,  as  in  Switzerland 
and  Italy  as  well,  you  will  find  chairs  and  tables  on 
the  walks  and  vine-covered  trellises  over  part  of  the 
public  way. 

Busier  America  and  cloudier  England  have  not 
fully  caught  the  out-of-door  spirit  in  their  towns; 
but  the  ceaseless  throngs  that  on  holidays  and  fine 


218 


flfcobern  Civic  art. 


afternoons  parade  Fifth  Avenue  in  New  York,  or  the 
Serpentine  in  Hyde  Park,  London,  and  the  unanimity 
with  which  all  the  seats  in  all  the  squares  are  occu- 
pied, would  have  given  proof  enough  of  the  popular- 
ity of  such  avenue  provision  for  enjoyment  had  there 
been  need  of  proving  it.  So  we  find  this  new  pur- 
pose changing  the  surface  development  that  these 
thoroughfares  will  have,  and  — since  they  have  been 
already  made  broad,  direct,  arterial,  and  serve  well 
their  primary  function  — it  dictates  the  character  of 
the  furnishing  and  decoration  that  may  be  given  to 
them. 

In  so  far  as  this  consists  of  the  use  of  trees,  civic 
art  would  urge  that  the  planting  be  harmonious.  It 
were  best,  indeed,  that  the  larger,  or  permanent, 
trees  on  any  street  — or  those  at  least  that  are 
between  consecutive  accents  of  the  street  — should 
be  of  one  kind.  They  will  be  far  more  effective  so, 
and  we  may  then  hope  for  a natural  symmetry  in 
growth.  The  trees  should  also  be  cleanly,  hardy, 
naturally  long-lived,  and  of  appropriate  form.  On 
these  broad  streets  they  should  have  stateliness  and 
ample  foliage,  and  if  they  be  set  out  in  the  turf  strip 
their  roots  will  have  the  better  chance  of  nourish- 
ment. The  trees,  it  would  urge,  should  not  be  left 
to  the  care  of  individuals,  nor  should  their  provision 
be  entrusted  to  private  persons.  They  are  here  as 
distinct  a furnishing  of  the  way  and  a public  benefit 
as  are  any  of  the  street  utilities.  Considered  as  the 
property  of  the  municipality,  it  should  be  held 


The  Champs  Ely  sees,  Paris. 


©n  (Breat  Hvenues.  219 

responsible  for  their  provision  and  maintenance, 
either  through  the  park  commission  or  a city  forester. 
In  many  cities  tree  nurseries  are  already  maintained; 
and  in  nearly  all  that  are  progressive  so  precious  a 
possession  as  the  street  tree  is  safeguarded  by  ordin- 
ances defending  it  from  the  carelessness  of  drivers 
and  the  thoughtlessness  of  bill  posters.  Civic  art 
would  insist  on  a very  strict  enforcement  of  these 
ordinances. 

As  for  the  strip  of  turf,  or  parking,  since  its  sole 
purpose  is  to  beautify,  it  will  necessarily  be  well 
kept.  There  will  be  waste  receptacles,  as  incon- 
spicuous as  may  be,  at  sufficiently  frequent  intervals 
to  make  easy  the  maintenance  of  its  neatness,  while 
careful  cutting  and  watering  are  to  be  assumed. 
Flowers  will  frequently  be  used.  Perennials  that  do 
not  grow  so  high  as  to  interrupt  the  vista  may  be 
approved;  and  where  there  are  beds  of  annuals,  con- 
ventional or  grotesque  shapes  will  be  avoided  in 
favour  of  those  straight  lines  and  borders  that  fit 
most  harmoniously  into  the  long  prospect  of  the 
street.  There  should  be  seats  at  frequent  intervals, 
far  more  frequent  than  is  common  in  the  streets  of 
American  cities,  for  we  ought  to  encourage  the  poor 
to  seek  the  fresh  air  and  sunshine,  and  should  make 
it  easy  as  well  as  pleasant  to  take  care  of  little  child- 
ren out-of-doors,  instead  of  keeping  them  in  stuffy 
rooms.  Contact  with  the  bustling,  busy  world  may 
be  as  good  for  the  caretakers  as  is  the  fresh  air  for 
the  children.  There  is  something  to  be  said,  too, 


220 


flDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


for  the  European  custom  of  supplementing  the  gen- 
erous municipal  provision  of  the  out-of-door  seats  by 
a concession  to  private  contractors  which  enables 
the  latter  to  make  a small  charge  for  the  use  of  the 
chairs.  This  results  in  the  possibility  of  nearly  al- 
ways getting  a seat  in  the  more  advantageous  posi- 
tions, and  it  gives  a degree  of  exclusiveness,  which 
unhappily  is  sometimes  welcome,  to  this  very  slight 
extent,  on  the  public  way.  The  contractors’  con- 
duct of  their  business  must,  of  course,  be  carefully 
watched. 

From  what  has  been  said  of  the  Spanish  ala- 
medas,  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  ideal  of  all 
these  streets,  even  from  the  standpoint  of  pure  en- 
joyment, is  a place  for  dawdling  in  the  open  air. 
If  that  were  all,  the  park  or  the  planted  open  spaces 
were  better  fitted  to  serve  the  end.  The  special  at- 
tractiveness of  such  avenues  to  the  persons  who 
dawdle  upon  them  lies  in  their  brilliancy  and  anima- 
tion, in  the  happy  flow  of  their  normal  traffic.  In 
our  street  plan  we  have  imagined  not  more  than  one 
or  two  of  the  avenues  thus  developed  as  simply  a 
pleasure  drive;  the  rest  are  arterial  thoroughfares, 
are  boulevards,  or  avenues  of  fashionable  residence. 
It  is  the  triumph  of  modern  civic  art  to  transform 
these  necessary  girdles  and  girders  of  the  structure 
of  the  city  into  ways  of  pleasure  and  beauty.  Here 
the  whirr  of  the  electric  car,  there  the  pomp  of  the 
swiftly  passing  carriages  — these  are  elements  of 
the  scene  that  may  count  not  less  distinctly  in  the 


©n  iSreat  avenues. 


22  1 


total  power  to  please  than  does  the  verdure.  For 
this  reason,  the  construction  which  is  along  the 
edge  of  such  streets  becomes  an  important  factor  in 
the  scenic  attractiveness  of  both  street  and  town. 

The  development  of  the  street  border  in  such 
cases  falls  under  three  general  subheads.  First,  in 
the  case  of  the  purely  beauty  or  pleasure  road,  there 
may  be  very  little  building,  or  perhaps  no  building 
on  one  side  — as  illustrated,  for  example,  by  Riverside 
Drive,  New  York,  with  its  extensions  secured  and 
proposed.  In  this  case  a lovely  view  is  substituted 
for  buildings,  on  one  side  of  the  road,  with  an  enor- 
mous gain  in  picturesqueness  and  beauty.  The 
opportunity  was,  however,  exceptional.  Unless  the 
road  borders  a park,  or  tortuously  climbs  a steep  hill, 
— as  the  road  that  ascends  to  San  Miniato,  Florence, 
— or  is  on  a high  bluff,  as  is  the  Riverside  Drive,  such 
a chance  is  not  presented.  If  these  conditions  be  not 
existent  and  there  still  be  little  building,  we  have  to 
assume  either  frequent  stretches  of  vacant  land  or 
residences  surrounded  by  grounds  so  relatively 
spacious  that  the  gardens  count  for  more  than  the 
structures  in  giving  character  to  the  way.  Because 
the  vacant  land  is  considered  a merely  temporary 
condition  it  is  liable  to  receive  too  little  attention.  A 
few  cities  have  now  adopted  ordinances  that  pro- 
hibit the  erection  of  bill-boards  on  vacant  lots  abut- 
ting on  parks,  parkways,  or  boulevards.  This  is  well 
as  far  as  it  goes,  but  the  land,  whether  occupied  or 
not,  that  borders  a street  is  so  inseparable  a factor  in 


222 


HDobcrn  Civic  Hrt. 


its  possible  amenity  that  on  these  streets  at  least, 
where  beauty  is  so  earnestly  sought,  vacant  property 
should  be  strictly  governed.  The  cutting  of  the 
weeds,  the  general  care  of  the  land,  and  the  main- 
tenance in  perfect  repair  of  its  enclosing  boundaries 
should  be  insisted  upon.  For  the  private  lawns  and 
gardens  there  is  seldom  a need  of  anxiety.  The 
wealth  that  affords  a long  frontage  on  such  streets 
can  usually  be  depended  upon  to  make  it  a creditable 
border  to  the  way. 

Second,  there  are  the  avenues  built  up,  in  vary- 
ing degrees  of  density,  with  handsome  residences. 
The  effects  are  many.  There  are  the  garden-sur- 
rounded villas,  homesteads,  and  pretentious  mansions 
of  the  fashionable  avenue  of  a city  that  has  ample 
room  for  growth  and  no  great  population ; there  are 
the  stately  rows  of  closely  built  apartment  houses, 
as  on  some  of  the  proudest  streets  of  Paris;  and  there 
are  handsome  but  sadly  crowded  residences,  as  on 
Fifth  Avenue,  in  New  York.  But  as  far  as  the 
preservation  of  street  stateliness  and  beauty  is  con- 
cerned, these  conditions  differ  little  from  those  on  the 
avenue  lined  with  broad  estates,  where  the  abutting 
property  may  be  safely  left  in  the  hands  of  those 
who  occupy  it,  without  dictation  by  the  municipality 
other  than  that  involved  in  quite  ordinary  building 
regulations. 

The  placing  of  the  residences  on  all  the  great 
avenues,  and  on  the  minor  streets  as  well,  is  a matter 
to  which  civic  art  would  fain  have  more  thoughtful 


©n  Great  avenues. 


223 


attention  given  than  is  usually  secured.  The  term 
“placing”  of  the  house,  here  means  both  its  placing 
in  relation  to  the  street  and  the  development  of  an 
appropriate  beauty:  (1)  in  selecting  the  angle  at 
which  it  shall  face;  (2)  in  setting  it  off  with  terraces 
or  well  planned  approaches;  and  (})  by  turning  to 
good  account  such  natural  beauty  — in  tree  or  rock 
or  irregularity  of  surface  — as  the  site  may  have.  All 
this  is  part  of  the  landscape  architect’s  profession  and 
it  would  doubtless  be  well  if  he  and  the  architect 
could  more  frequently  co-operate.  The  vista  of 
many  a good  street  is  marred  by  the  needless  placing 
askew  of  a house. 

Finally,  on  the  great  radials,  which  we  have 
imagined  as  the  residential  district’s  main  lines  of 
travel,  there  may  be  not  only  the  residences  which 
are  characteristic  of  all  these  streets,  but,  as  we 
have  seen,  the  public  buildings  that  are  the  local, 
or  neighbourhood,  centres.  These  should  be  made 
worthy  of  their  importance.  They  become  promin- 
ent objects  of  the  way,  and  will  gain  not  a little 
from  the  attractiveness  of  the  setting  offered  by  the 
street.  The  bareness  of  the  school  will  disappear 
as  the  vines  climb  its  walls,  and  as  swaying  trees 
fleck  the  sunshine  on  door  and  window  and  send 
shadows  scudding  across  the  walk,  like  children  late 
to  school.  The  branch  post-office  and  library  will 
have  a new  and  grateful,  and  here  a wholly  appro- 
priate, air  of  domesticity  with  an  outlook  on  turf 
and  trees  and  flowers,  while  the  importance  of  the 


224 


fIDofcern  Civic  art. 


street  is  dignified  and  emphasised  by  the  assemblage 
thus  upon  it  of  the  locality’s  most  consequential 
structures.  There  come,  too,  a special  variety  and 
interest  as  post-office,  library,  school,  and  church 
punctuate  the  building  line. 

It  can  be  fancied  that  in  the  ideal  construction  of 
an  ideal  city  the  municipality,  in  laying  out  these 
arterial  radials,  would  reserve  certain  sites  on  ad- 
vantageous corners  that  they  might  surely  be  occu- 
pied for  public  purposes.  There  would  be  for  this 
the  further  inducement  that  because  these  streets 
are  diagonal,  in  reference  to  the  street  systems  they 
cross,  there  will  be  many  corners  that  are  difficult 
of  treatment  unless  more  than  one  lot  be  included  in 
the  tract  to  be  built  upon.  In  that  case  the  site  may 
offer  a noble  architectural  opportunity,  while  if  left 
in  the  hands  of  private  owners  the  small  corner  lot, 
now  cut  down  to  a triangle,  may  seem  of  so  little 
worth  as  to  have  scant  attention.  That  this  is  a real 
danger  and  one  of  serious  import  to  the  street  ap- 
pears from  the  action  taken  by  the  influential  T- 
Square  Club  (of  architects)  in  Philadelphia,  when 
the  project  for  pushing  a diagonal  parkway  from 
the  City  Hal!  to  Fairmount  Park  came  before  the 
public.  The  year’s  competitions  were  all  devoted 
to  the  building  problems  that  would  arise  from  the 
construction  of  the  thoroughfare.  The  first  of  these 
was  to  plan  “a  house  on  a triangular  lot”;  the 
second  was  “the  treatment  in  elevation  of  the  angle 
of  a private  residence”  on  such  a lot.  It  is  evident 


©n  (Sreat  avenues.  225 

that  there  was  keen  appreciation  of  a menace  to  be 
guarded  against,  as  well  as  of  an  opportunity  to 
be  embraced. 

In  the  elements  of  street  attractiveness  we  have 
now  considered,  in  regular  order,  the  pavement  and 
walks,  the  “furnishings”  of  the  street,  the  use  of 
verdure,  and  the  influence  of  the  building  along  its 
margin.  We  have  come  to  the  final  factor:  the 
adornment  for  adornment’s'  sake.  This  must  consist 
of  decoration  with  sculpture,  with  fountains,  exedras, 
arches,  and  statues.  There  is  clearly  no  more  ap- 
propriate place  for  such  adornment  than  these  great 
show  avenues,  with  their  room  to  spare.  On  what 
other  streets  could  fountains  play  more  fittingly  than 
on  these  with  the  flowers  and  grass;  where  else 
than  here,  where  seats  are  well-nigh  a necessity, 
will  the  exedra  be  so  natural  and  useful  an  ornament 
of  the  way;  and  where  but  here,  with  the  proffered 
background  of  foliage  and  yet  with  no  “ naturalness  ” 
of  design  that  must  be  marred  by  sudden  formalism, 
can  the  statue  show  so  picturesquely  ? 

A notable  example  of  such  a great  avenue,  muni- 
ficently adorned  with  sculpture,  is  offered  by  the 
little  known  Paseo  de  la  Reforma  in  the  City  of 
Mexico.  This  is  three  miles  long  and  very  broad. 
At  each  of  five  places  on  its  length  there  is  laid  out 
that  circular  broadening  that  in  Paris  is  called  a Rond 
Point  and  in  London  a Circus,  but  that  the  Mexicans 
more  aptly  name  a Glorietta, — the  Paseo  is  a dia- 
gonal on  a gridiron  plan, — and  each  of  these  is 


226 


fIDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


dedicated  to  sculpture  exalting  a national  hero. 
At  regular  intervals  on  the  road-lawn  there  rise  stone 
pedestals.  They  are  allotted  to  the  states  of  the 
nation,  that  upon  each  of  them  may  be  commemor- 
ated, in  a life-size  statue,  a hero  of  the  state  ; while 
on  the  far  side  of  the  footway  — and  so  facing  the 
avenue  — there  are  numerous  monumental  seats  of 
stone. 

As  for  the  arch,  returning  to  the  subject  of  sculpt- 
ure on  these  streets,  it  hardly  rises  in  one  city 
among  a score.  But  where  it  does,  there  would  be 
no  site  of  more  theoretical  suitability  than  at  the 
beginning  of  one  of  these  great  avenues,  or  at  its 
terminus  and  crown.  So,  at  the  beginning  of  Fifth 
Avenue,  rises  the  Washington  Arch  in  New  York; 
so,  at  the  entrance  to  Unter  den  Linden,  in  Berlin,  is 
the  Brandenburg  Thor;  and  so,  at  the  convergence 
of  avenues,  looms  the  Arch  of  the  Star  in  Paris. 

We  speak  of  the  arch  as  triumphal;  but  more 
surely  than  of  triumph  is  its  effect  one  of  pomp  and 
majesty  — the  two  qualities  which  these  avenues  are 
expected  especially  to  stamp  upon  the  town.  And 
as  this  is  said,  we  should  consider  the  changed 
conception  of  civic  art.  It  has  become  an  end  in 
itself.  The  arch  that  rose  to  glorify  a conqueror  may 
rise  to  magnify  a city’s  splendour.  The  statues  that 
commemorate  proud  events  and  worthy  citizens  are 
put  up  the  more  willingly  because  they  make  hand- 
somer a highway.  The  fountains  that  had  their 
origin  in  the  need  of  a public  place  for  drawing 


®n  (Breat  avenues. 


227 


water  are  erected  now  that  they  may  beautify  a 
street;  and  the  long  straight  thoroughfares  that  were 
laid  down  as  principal  lines  of  communication  are 
broadened  to  become  the  salons  of  the  city,  and  are 
adorned  to  stamp  it  with  majesty.  Thus  are  ex- 
pressed the  new  ideals  of  civic  art  — those  dreams 
that  make  it  modern,  because  a city’s  splendour,  and 
beautiful  majestic  streets,  are  now  desired  for  the 
greater  happiness  and  welfare  of  its  citizens. 


1 


CHAPTER  XII. 

ON  MINOR  RESIDENTIAL  STREETS. 

CITY  is  not  all  grandiose.  Even  in  an  age 


of  industry  and  commerce,  or  of  ruinous  lux- 


ury,— according  to  the  point  of  view, — the 
city  is  not  all  business  or  all  pleasure,  nor  business 
and  pleasure  merely  side  by  side.  Earners  and 
spenders  have  home  life,  and  the  city  presents  no 
aspect  more  inspiring,  more  appealing  to  civic  art, 
than  that  of  an  aggregation  of  homes.  It  has  no 
element  which  invites  more  earnestly  the  civic-art 
ambition  and  endeavour. 

If  the  town  existed  merely  for  business  — in  trade 
or  manufacture  — there  would  be  scant  gain  in  mak- 
ing handsome  thoroughfares;  and  if  it  existed  merely 
as  a rendezvous  for  the  rich,  they  might  be  left  to 
seek  beauty  elsewhere.  But  the  city  brings  together, 
as  the  major  part  of  its  population,  those  who,  hav- 
ing to  work  indeed,  are  something  better  than  ma- 
chines— men  and  women  who  dream  dreams,  little 
children  in  whose  faces  the  wonder  and  glory  of 


228 


©n  fllMnot*  IResibential  Streets.  229 

Paradise  should  linger  still,  youths  with  love's  refin- 
ing finger  on  their  souls,  the  aged  in  whose  hearts 
the  vision  of  the  city  of  God  is  cherished  expectantly. 
Upon  these,  the  multitudes  of  the  city,  rests  more 
than  ever  before  the  hope  of  humanity.  They  are 
now  the  straining  vanguard  of  mankind.  “ He  who 
makes  the  city  makes  the  world,”  for  he  makes  the 
environment  of  these,  the  world’s  workers.  As  this 
environment  is  lovely  and  uplifting,  or  mean  and  de- 
pressing, as  it  feeds  or  starves  the  brains  and  spirits 
whose  outlook  upon  earth  it  compasses,  it  may  be 
supposed  to  influence  the  battle  — to  help  the  for- 
ward or  retrograde  movement  of  the  race.  So  a new 
dignity,  a moral  quality,  comes  into  the  plea  for  civic 
art  when  it  touches  the  homes  of  the  people. 

And  is  there  no  yearning  for  beauty  and  the  com- 
fort of  peace  and  harmony  in  the  home  ? We  recog- 
nise it  too  well  to  make  the  question  deserve  an 
answer.  The  unexplained  but  long  observed  and 
well-nigh  unanimous  growth  of  cities  to  the  west- 
ward, by  the  addition  to  their  west  side  of  the  homes 
of  those  who  are  able  to  choose,  seems  like  an  un- 
conscious yielding,  after  the  weariness  and  toil  of 
day,  to  the  beckoning  quiet  and  beauty  of  the  sun- 
set. Is  it  not  the  constant  repetition  of  that  beaute- 
ous sign  in  the  sky,  when  work  is  done,  that 
unconsciously  calls  men  thither  ? 

Civic  art  has,  then,  a new  and  higher  impulse 
when  it  comes  to  the  homes  of  the  workers,  and  it 
finds  a field  waiting  and  ready.  Its  problem  is  not 


230 


modern  Civic  art. 


the  collective,  civic,  and  splendid,  as  on  the  great 
avenues;  it  is  not  to  teach  and  incite,  as  in  the  busi- 
ness district.  It  is  to  harmonise  individual  efforts  in 
order  that  private  endeavour  may  serve  the  public 
end.  The  exterior  of  your  home,  said  Ruskin,  is  not 
private  property.  So  he  stated,  boldly  and  strik- 
ingly, a principle  that  has  wide  legal  recognition  — 
that  the  outside  of  the  house  and  such  part  of  the 
grounds  as  may  be  seen  from  the  street  are  the  very 
real  concern  of  the  neighbours.  They,  indeed,  see 
more  of  the  outside  of  the  house  than  does  he  who 
dwells  within  it;  and  if  he  receives,  or  would  receive, 
pleasure  from  their  homes  and  gardens,  he  should  do 
his  share  in  making  a contribution  of  his  own  to  the 
attractiveness  or  beauty  of  the  street.  On  that  firm 
basis,  then,  of  give  and  take  — a dependence  some- 
what surer  than  unselfishness,  if  not  so  lovely  — rests 
the  inviting  character  of  the  minor  residential  street 
in  so  far  as  it  depends  on  individual  homes. 

And  this  dependence  is  very  great.  Except  a 
probable  row  of  trees  at  either  curb,  the  minor  street 
of  the  older  residential  area  has  seldom  any  feature 
to  give  beauty  to  it  save  the  abutting  private  pro- 
perty. Even  the  trees  are  not  here  assured.  The 
long  bare  blocks  of  New  York,  the  standard  “object 
lesson,”  are  duplicated  in  many  other  cities.  It  may 
almost  be  said,  in  fact,  that  the  normal  residential 
street  of  minor  significance,  in  the  central  part  of 
great  cities,  is  a hopeless  problem  aesthetically  except 
as  private  property  may  redeem  it.  There  is  need 


@n  flDinor  IRcstbential  Streets. 


231 


perhaps  of  reminder,  in  this  assertion,  that  road,  curb, 
and  sidewalk  — however  necessary  and  however 
excellently  built — appear  as  beautiful  only  to  the 
professional  eye  of  a well-pleased  engineer.  Yet,  if 
a little  variety  be  brought  into  their  construction,  if 
the  colour  of  walk  and  grass  make  pleasant  contrast, 
if  the  sidewalk  in  obedience  to  natural  conditions 
now  and  then  rise  a little  from  the  level  of  the  road, 
or  make  slow  detour  in  curving  line  to  save  a tree, 
we  shall  have  an  effect  to  which  at  least  beauty  is 
not  so  foreign  as  to  be  denied,  should  the  develop- 
ment on  the  borders  of  the  street  be  favourable.  But 
departures  from  line  and  level  are  almost  uniformly 
renounced  in  the  older  parts  of  cities. 

On  the  outskirts  and  in  the  newer  quarters,  where 
modern  civic  art  has  had  a chance  to  alter  old  condi- 
tions, or  to  create  new  ones  better  suited  to  its  taste, 
there  is  not  only  a greater  probability  of  street  trees, 
but  it  is  likely  that  the  topography  has  been  changed. 
There  are  streets  here  of  slowly  curving  lines,  and 
thoroughfares  that  gradually  rise  and  fall  with  the 
natural  surface  of  the  ground,  to  the  end  that  they 
have  elements  of  beauty  in  themselves.  Yet  even 
here  the  larger  house-grounds,  made  possible  by  the 
lessened  pressure  at  such  distance  from  the  city’s 
centre,  impose  new  obligations  on  the  residents  of 
the  street.  In  fact  the  opportunity  of  the  house- 
grounds  here  to  mar  or  improve  the  street’s  ap- 
pearance is  thus  increased. 

As  to  trees,  the  subject  is  a large  one.  In  the 


232 


fB>obent  Civic  art. 


specific  instance  offered  by  each  city  there  are  a 
hundred  things  to  be  considered.  But  the  general 
principles  applicable  to  all  towns,  regardless  of 
whether  the  natural  growth  be  the  palm  of  Algiers, 
the  linden  of  Berlin,  the  acacia  of  Paris,  or  the  elm  of 
New  England,1  are  not  many,  and  such  as  they  are 
these  have  been  fairly  summed  up  in  the  preceding 
chapter.  There  is  only  this  to  add:  Since  these 
minor  streets  seldom  have  space  for  more  than  a 
single  row  of  trees  on  each  side  of  the  road,  the 
trees  should  be  planted,  not  directly  opposite,  but 
alternately.  So  with  seeming  greater  frequency 
there  may  really  be  ample  room  for  growth.  For 
these  streets,  too,  where  the  buildings  are  not  high 
and  are  set  well  back  from  the  walk,  there  may  be 
chosen  trees  of  large  growth  and  these  should  be  en- 
couraged to  grow  to  their  full  height.  We  shall  not 
fear  now  to  seek  the  splendid  individual  specimen 
nor,  finding  one,  shall  we  fail  to  cherish  it.  It  may 
quite  properly  become  here  the  feature  of  the  view, 
for  the  ideal  development  is  no  longer  that  of  the 
strict  formalism  in  other  portions  of  the  town.  The 
very  abandonment  of  the  engineering  standard,  in 
substituting  curves  for  straight  lines  and  permitting 
grades  where  levels  could  have  been  obtained  by 
simply  cutting  and  filling,  invites  more  laxity  in  the 
adornment  with  vegetation  and  suggests  a tendency 
towards  naturalness.  But  of  course  even  this  prin- 

1 Witness,  as  testifying  to  the  urban  value  of  these  native  trees  : the  Avenue 
des  Palmes  in  Algiers,  Unter  den  Linden  in  Berlin,  the  Avenue  des  Acacias  in  Paris, 
and  the  frequent  Elm  Street  in  New  England. 


©n  flDinor  IRestbential  Streets.  233 

ciple  can  be  called  general  only  in  its  application  to 
the  suburban  or  less  crowded  streets.  It  may  still 
be  necessary  on  solidly  built-up  thoroughfares,  how- 
ever minor  these  be  in  the  town’s  topography,  to 
have  small  and  formal  trees. 

And  finally  there  is  to  be  emphasised  again  the 
value  of  municipal  control  of  trees.  The  park  board, 
into  whose  hands  they  are  very  often  placed  when 
such  control  is  exercised,  has  responsibility  enough 
in  the  squares  and  parks.  In  the  fascinating  pro- 
blems which  are  offered  by  these,  and  the  striking 
effects  that  can  be  secured  in  them,  there  is  a 
temptation  to  overlook  the  trees  or  to  delegate  their 
care  to  a superintendent  whose  work  has  little  over- 
seeing. It  is  safer  at  once  to  vest  him  with  the  full 
responsibility,  and  for  the  city  to  obtain  a better 
officer  by  making  the  custody  of  the  trees  a distinct 
department,  under  the  charge  of  a warden  or  forester. 
In  the  United  States  this  is  already  decreed  by 
several  State  laws;  and  it  is  an  interesting  evidence 
of  the  foothold  of  modern  civic  art  that  an  intellig- 
ent provision  for  the  care  of  these  ornaments  of  the 
street  — pure  ornaments  as  they  are  commonly 
thought  to  be  — and  details  of  street  furnishing  that 
the  splendid  cities  of  antiquity  scarcely  made  a use 
of,  should  now  be  forced  upon  towns  by  the  laws 
of  states.  Even  “Antioch  the  beautiful,”  whose 
epithet  would  suggest  a use  of  the  luxuriant  vegeta- 
tion of  its  plain,  depended  for  distinction  on  the 
splendour  of  its  palaces  and  temples. 


234 


flDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


There  are  many  other  considerations  than  the 
aesthetic  on  which  to  commend  a planting  of  street 
trees.  Trees  not  only  cool  the  air,  in  addition  to 
affording  a shade  that  in  itself  is  cool  compared  to 
the  sun’s  direct  rays,  but  they  purify  it,  by  absorb- 
ing poisonous  gases  and  giving  forth  oxygen.  They 
also  tend  to  absorb  that  surplus  water  in  the  soil  that 
may  make  basements  damp.  It  is  claimed,  too,  that 
they  have  a commercial  value  to  cities,  in  that  peo- 
ple remain  much  further  into  the  summer  in  the 
towns  that  are  well  planted  with  trees.  These  con- 
siderations, however,  re-emphasise,  rather  than  sup- 
plant, the  entirely  sufficient  ground  of  attractiveness 
on  which  modern  civic  art  would  urge  the  planting 
of  trees  in  cities.  And  having  urged  their  planting, 
it  would  urge  consistently  their  care — the  safeguard- 
ing of  their  bark,  while  they  are  young,  with  nettings, 
baskets,  or  iron  guards,  and  always  with  stringent 
ordinances;  the  proper  nurture  and  protection  of 
their  roots;  and  the  defence  of  their  branches  from 
spoliation  by  linemen,  insects,  and  too  vigorous 
trimming. 

Where  there  are  no  trees,  or  where  they  are  so 
poor  and  far  between  as  no  longer  to  be  a factor,  ex- 
perience would  bid  us  assume  the  street  to  be  narrow, 
straight,  level,  and  closely  built  up  — a street  in  the 
inner  system  of  a large  city.  Here  the  sole  depend- 
ence for  the  beauty  of  the  way  must  be  placed  on 
private  property.  It  is  a discouraging  condition,  but 
it  must  be  bravely  faced,  and  the  individual  residents, 


®n  fflMnor  ■Residential  Streets.  235 

who  certainly  have  already  an  inducement  to  make 
their  homes  attractive,  are  to  be  encouraged  in  the 
task, — that  conditions  may  not  dishearten  them, — 
and  led  so  to  co-operate  that  there  may  be  a 
harmonious  result  and  that  each  effect  may  be 
heightened  by  its  neighbours.  An  enthusiastic  at- 
tempt to  transform  one  of  the  solidly  built-up  blocks 
of  the  borough  of  Brooklyn  in  New  York  into  “the 
block  beautiful  ” is  a recent  and  an  almost  pathetic- 
ally striking  instance  of  the  effort  and  its  courage. 

The  block  selected  had  barely  a tree.  The  houses 
were  built  in  a solid  wall,  extending  unbroken  and 
with  monotonous  fafade,  from  corner  to  corner;  and 
there  was  no  possibility  of  lawn  or  flower-bed.  The 
plan  was  to  secure  a uniform  planting  of  trees,  and 
by  the  co-operation  of  the  residents  to  engage  a 
gardener  who  should  plant  vines  against  the  houses, 
and  arrange  and  care  for  porch  and  window  boxes, 
the  latter  to  be  placed  on  the  first  and  second  stories. 
The  moderate  measure  of  success  attained  amid  even 
such  conditions  is  rich  in  suggestion  for  minor  resid- 
ential streets.  In  the  gay  window  boxes  of  German 
cities  and  in  those  that  bring  so  much  beauty  to 
the  dull  street  walls  of  London,  this  lesson  is 
immensely  emphasised. 

From  such  a street  as  described  every  change, 
while  still  among  private  homes,  must  be  one  of 
increasing  opportunity.  As  the  houses  retreat  from 
the  walk,  there  comes  a space  before  them  for  flowers 
and  grass;  as  they  draw  apart  from  each  other,  there 


236 


f!Do&ern  Civic  art. 


comes  a chance  for  vistas  of  lawn,  for  shrubs,  and 
perhaps  for  beautiful  trees  on  the  house-lots  them- 
selves. The  front  fences  come  down;  party  fences 
are  abandoned,  at  least  to  the  building  line;  and  the 
narrow  street  is  seemingly  widened  by  the  breadth 
of  the  visible  gardens  on  either  side.  By  degrees 
these  play  a more  and  more  prominent  part  in  giving 
character  and  beauty  to  the  street’s  appearance.  It 
is  suddenly  realised  that  the  individual  homes,  upon 
which  civic  art  is  here  putting  its  main  dependence 
and  for  whose  occupants  it  exists,  are  bearing  brave- 
ly their  part.  They  are  making  beautiful  a street 
that  in  itself  had  little  beauty;  and  when,  at  last, 
the  newer  portions  of  the  town  are  reached,  and  the 
street  rises  and  falls  with  the  gentle  undulation  of  the 
natural  surface,  or  winds  and  curves  in  lines  that  are 
essentially  beautiful,  it  is  observed  that  every  chang- 
ing view-point,  every  angle,  offers  a new  glimpse  of 
orivate  ground  with  its  opportunity  to  enhance  or 
lessen  the  beauty  of  the  street. 

In  these  portions  of  the  city  even  the  minor  street 
will  often  widen  enough  to  admit  of  parking.  But 
the  dependence  on  the  house-lots  will  not  vanish 
under  such  conditions,  though  it  be  no  longer  com- 
plete. Until  there  is  the  parking  — which  is  street 
gardening  by  the  community,  local  or  municipal  — 
civic  art  has  no  task  more  urgent  than  the  guidance 
of  private  taste,  which  is  to  say  its  persuasion  into 
harmonious  action,  its  aesthetic  education,  or  the  in- 
struction of  those  whose  taste  is  already  refined  but 


A Minor  Residential  Street.  The  planting  on  the  house  la\?hs  is,  as  commonly,  too  “spotty”  ; but  the  street’s  depend- 
ence on  private  property  for  its  beauty  is  well  illustrated. 


. 


®n  fIMnor  IRestbettfial  Streets. 


2 37 


whose  practical  experience  is  slight.  Therein  lies 
the  opportunity  of  the  societies  for  outdoor  art,  and 
on  this  need  rests  their  popularity.  They  are  making 
known  the  one  great  modern  feature  of  our  civic  art 
which  is  of  a personal  concern  to  every  householder. 
They  are  teaching  the  lesson  of  the  use  of  vegetation, 
and  its  use  when  necessary  in  subordination  to  the 
general  weal,  that  can  be  learned  by  no  conning  of 
the  civilisations  of  the  past.  With  their  every  wisely 
taken  step  these  carry  forward  the  march  of  modern 
civic  art. 

Regarding  the  lessons  to  be  taught,  there  must 
again  be  limitation  here  to  the  most  general  prin- 
ciples. The  local  conditions  that  may  properly  ex- 
aggerate or  modify  desired  results  do  so  too  naturally 
to  need  a notice,  even  were  it  possible  to  speak  speci- 
fically of  every  varying  locality  with  its  different  flora. 
It  means  much  for  civic  art  that  considerations  so 
abstract  and  large  as  “general  principles”  should 
have  a popular  attention,  and  that  the  immediate  and 
showy  effects  of  contrasted  colours  and  carpet  bed- 
ding should  be  relinquished  for  those  quieter  effects 
which  are  indeed  of  untiring  loveliness,  but  which 
require  for  full  appreciation  a more  cultured  taste, 
and  for  anticipation  a trained  mind.  Modern  civic 
art,  considered  in  the  abstract,  has  nothing  more  press- 
ing to  do  for  the  improvement  of  the  minor  residen- 
tial streets  than  the  popularising  of  those  general 
principles  of  landscape  design  that  may  be  applied  to 
the  house-lot  in  the  city. 


238 


flfoobern  Civic  art. 


In  briefly  condensed  statement,  these  principles 
require  the  massing  and  grouping  of  shrubs  in 
boundary  plantations,  and  the  clearance  of  the  lawn 
thereby  of  the  spotted  and  unstudied  planting  which 
is  commonly  the  first  expression  of  outdoor  art 
ambition.  Value  is  placed  on  the  quiet  and  beauty 
of  an  unbroken  lawn,  bounded  where  necessary  with 
belts  of  foliage  that  break  hard  lines  by  an  undulating 
edge  reflecting  the  varying  width  of  the  border  plant- 
ation. This  plantation  will  screen  all  necessary  but 
unattractive  structures,  and  may  take  the  place  of 
a fence  — even  of  a front  fence  where  privacy  is 
desirable,  as  it  often  is.  A hedge  is  better  than  a 
fence,  but  an  irregular  belt  of  planting  is  better  than 
a hedge.  The  border  will  have  an  irregular  sky- 
line, and  on  its  lawn  face  will  taper  down  almost  to 
the  grass  — the  lower-growing  plants  being  placed 
in  front.  This  border  will  have  such  variety  of  foli- 
age and  flower  as  to  be  a lovely  feature  in  itself. 
Into  its  bays  or  openings  a herbaceous  or  hardy 
flower  border  may  at  times  be  pressed,  while  the 
lawn  — left  clear,  perhaps  as  far  back  as  the  house  — 
will  seem  to  give  to  the  latter  a statelier  setting  and 
to  add  no  little  width  both  to  street  and  house-lot. 
The  service  yard,  at  back  or  side,  will  be  screened 
from  the  street;  and  where  the  house  rises  from  i 
the  ground  an  edging  of  shrubs,  again  in  lines  of 
natural  irregularity,  will  break  the  harsh  contrast  and 
hard  angle  between  lawn  and  structure,  wedding 
them  in  a lovely  union.  Now  and  again,  but  usu- 


®n  fllMnor  TRestbentlal  Streets. 


239 

ally  in  a place  so  sequestered  as  regards  the  street 
that  it  will  not  affect  the  latter’s  appearance,  there 
may  be  an  opportunity  for  formal  gardening.  More 
often  there  will  be  a carriage  road  to  provide;  but 
this  our  landscape  designer  considers,  however  neces- 
sary, little  better  than  an  evil  and  renders  as  incon- 
spicuous as  possible. 

The  use  of  trees,  in  groups  or  singly;  the  utilisa- 
tion of  beautiful  or  noble  specimens  which  may 
already  stand  upon  the  lot;  the  planting  of  vines 
that  their  graceful  drapery  may  clothe  bare  walls, 
soften  sharp  corners,  or  bring  new  beauty  and  pic- 
turesqueness to  piazza,  porch,  and  balcony, — all  these 
are  details  that  will  suggest  themselves  so  powerfully 
in  each  specific  case,  and  require  such  distinct  de- 
cisions, that  there  is  no  need  to  emphasise  them 
here.  It  is  only  to  be  said,  as  another  general  prin- 
ciple of  landscape  art,  that  the  vine  should  be  used 
with  restraint,  in  remembrance  that  the  architectural 
effect  of  a structure  should  not  be  sacrificed  to  the 
beauty  of  a luxuriant  vine-growth.  The  vine  may 
be  lovely  in  itself  and  may  bring  into  the  structure  a 
gentleness  that  the  architect  failed  to  secure;  but  we 
must  not  create,  as  the  total  of  our  composition,  an 
apparent  substructure  of  fluttering  leaves  to  support 
an  upper  story  of  stone  or  brick.  Nor  can  the  vine 
always  “be  left  to  grow  in  its  own  wilful  way.”  It 
may  need  to  be  watched  carefully  and  trained. 

The  main  points  that  civic  art  would  urge,  in  con- 
sidering the  house-lots  in  their  capacity  for  bringing 


240 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


beauty  to  the  street,  may  now  be  summarised. 
They  are:  (1)  that  it  is  not  enough  that  the  house 
and  its  grounds  be  even  neat  and  orderly,  essential 
to  street  beauty  as  these  qualities  are;  (2)  that  in 
attempt  to  secure  positive  beauty  there  be  regard 
for  the  elementary  principles  of  landscape  art;  (3) 
that  with  such  regard  there  be  some  harmony,  if 
not  actual  co-operation,,  among  neighbours,  so  that 
every  individual  effect  may  have  the  support  of  all 
the  others;  (4)  and  as  partly  explaining  the  first  and 
third  requirements,  that  there  be  remembrance  that  it 
is  the  street,  and  even  the  town  as  far  as  may  be, 
which  we  are  to  make  more  beautiful;  and  thus  that 
the  problem  of  our  outdoor  art,  at  this  point,  is  not 
merely  that  of  a garden,  or  of  shrubbery,  or  of 
wedding  a house  to  its  site  or  of  giving  to  it  a beauti- 
ful setting;  but  is  the  larger,  more  difficult,  more 
virile,  and  inspiring  one  of  civic  beauty.  In  this, 
pre-eminently,  art  must  be  founded  upon  rationality 
and  fitness,  and  its  triumph  must  be  democratic. 

In  those  undertakings  for  municipal  aesthetics 
which  have  their  roots  in  sociology,  there  has  lately 
been  much  emphasis  on  the  “ improvement  ” of  back 
yards.  The  back  yard  is  a problem  that  sociology 
cannot  overlook,  and  even  from  the  standpoint  of 
landscape  art  it  may  offer  an  area  equal  to  that  which 
is  clearly  visible  from  the  street.  If  it  does,  the  rules 
to  be  applied  are  not  very  different.  They  are  modi- 
fied by  the  probable  necessity  of  setting  aside  a por- 
tion for  a service  yard,  and  by  the  greater  desirability 


©n  flDtnor  IResibential  Streets.  241 

of  privacy,  with  the  increased  opportunity  thus  given 
for  the  expression  of  individuality.  From  the  stand- 
point of  civic  art,  the  back  yard  has  significance  only 
on  the  theory  that  our  municipal  aesthetics  are  some- 
thing more  comprehensive  than  art  dans  la  rue;  that 
they  concern  not  simply  the  aspect  of  the  city,  as 
the  stranger  may  see  it  in  superficial  examination,  but 
that  they  are  to  enter  into  the  very  structure  of  the 
town,  refining  the  home  as  well  as  the  avenue,  and 
changing  the  unseen  as  well  as  the  visible.  And  of 
course  the  back  yards  of  a community  do  affect  the 
view  from  the  house  windows,  and  so  have  in  them 
the  possibility  of  adding  to  the  beauty  and  attractive- 
ness of  the  city  in  the  eyes  of  its  citizens  and  the 
guests  in  its  homes.  Here,  however,  civic  art  treads 
close  on  the  rights  of  privacy,  and  it  would  do  no 
more  than  urge  in  a general  way  a study  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  good  design  and  a respect,  not  perhaps  for 
the  rights,  but  for  what  may  be  the  privileges,  of 
neighbours. 

The  landscape  treatment  of  a street  which  has  a 
strip  reserved  for  parking  on  each  side  of  the  road  is 
a problem  entirely  distinct  from  the  development  of 
street  beauty  by  means  of  the  house-lots.  The  de- 
pendence is  not  now  quite  so  completely  upon  them; 
civic  art  has  before  it  a task  that  partakes  much  more 
of  a community  character,  since  the  expressions  of 
individualism  should  clearly  enter  but  little  into  park- 
ing. The  work  on  the  reserved  strip  is  to  be  done 
by  the  municipality  through  one  or  another  of  its 

16 


242 


fIDobern  Civic  art. 


departments,  or  by  the  residents  of  the  street  acting 
as  a group,  for  surely  it  were  a mistake  to  divide  a 
section  of  the  public  street  into  parcels  and  then 
abandon  each  to  the  whim  or  neglect  of  an  individual. 

There  is  offered  in  the  centre,  or  more  frequently 
on  each  side  of  the  road  between  the  road  and 
walk,  a strip  that  is  not  dedicated  to  travel.  This 
should  be  developed  as  a ribbon  of  loveliness  that, 
laid  lengthwise  from  street’s  end  to  street’s  end,  or 
as  far  as  the  eye  can  see,  will  so  stamp  its  character 
on  the  thoroughfare  as  to  make  it  beautiful.  Thus  is 
parking  a new  privilege,  which  has  been  given  only 
to  modern  civic  art,  and  one  rich  in  opportunities. 

The  long  strip  on  residential  streets  where  travel 
is  not  heavy  will  surely  be  planted  with  turf,  and  the 
most  prominent  objects  upon  it  will  be  the  trees. 
These  will  be  planted  here,  for  their  roots  will  have 
a better  chance  for  nurture  than  where  pavement  and 
walk  shut  out  moisture  from  the  ground.  The  posi- 
tion of  the  trees  is  usually  in  a formal  row,  with 
regular  intervals  between — as  the  commoner  ideal  for 
city  planting.  But  it  sometimes  happens  where  there 
is  parking  that  they  may  stand  in  little  groups  of  two 
or  three.  Especially  may  this  be  done  when  the 
trees  antedate  the  street.  When  such  groups  are 
found,  it  might  probably  be  that  the  appearance  of 
the  street  would  be  more  hurt  than  aided  by  their 
removal.  This  group  planting  is  not  as  favourable 
for  symmetry,  but  it  will  permit,  with  its  greater 
naturalness,  the  use  of  several  varieties  of  trees, 


©n  flIMnor  ■Residential  Streets. 


243 


while  a row  requires  uniformity  for  good  effect.  Much 
will  depend,  of  course,  on  the  style  of  the  treatment 
given  to  the  strip  of  parking.  The  thing  that  civic 
art  would  note  is  the  opportunity  for  “ natural  ” de- 
velopment, if  this  be  desired. 

In  addition  to  the  trees  that  now  rise  from  neatly 
kept  turf,  it  will  often  be  well  to  plant  the  strip  with 
shrubbery  or  flowers.  Where  there  is  “natural” 
treatment,  the  trees  may  rise  from  masses  of  foliage 
as  they  so  frequently  do  in  nature;  and  when  the 
treatment  is  strictly  formal,  the  shrubs  or  flowers  will 
lend  themselves  readily  to  the  composition.  The 
streets,  however,  on  which  flowers  are  expected  to 
bloom  need  to  be  secluded,  and  far  removed  from 
those  sections  of  the  city  where  flowers  are  rare,  lest 
their  beauty  prove  too  great  a temptation  and  be  de- 
spoiled. The  shrubs,  too,  are  not  available  except 
when  the  strip  of  parking  has  considerable  width,  for 
it  is  important  that  they  should  not  overhang  walk 
or  road,  and  if  they  be  planted  too  near  the  curb 
horses  will  nibble  at  them.  At  corners,  also,  they 
must  be  of  low  growth  lest,  by  shutting  out  the 
view,  they  invite  collisions.  And  yet,  even  with 
these  restrictions,  they  are  frequently  used,  immensely 
adorning  and  beautifying  the  street  so  that  it  ceases 
to  seem  a public  way — a means  of  public  communi- 
cation only — and  appears  rather  as  a lovely  avenue 
in  park  or  private  grounds.  But  the  original  function 
of  the  street  is  still  served  admirably — the  better, 
indeed,  for  the  pleasant  change  in  its  character. 


244 


HDobern  Civic  art. 


For  what  is  the  function  of  the  minor  street  in  the 
residential  section,  if  it  be  not,  as  far  as  each  in- 
dividual is  concerned,  to  prove  a prolongation,  for  the 
public  convenience,  of  his  garden  walk  ? It  is  the 
connection  between  his  home  and  the  great  arteries 
of  the  city;  but  it  is  something  more  than  only  a line 
of  communication.  It  is  to  be  as  pleasant  a line  as 
possible;  it  is  to  soothe  the  tired  spirit  and  delight 
the  eye;  to  carry  the  word  “ Home  ” far  out  to  meet 
him  when  he  comes,  and  to  take  it  with  him,  with 
lingering  caress,  when  he  departs.  It  is,  in  its  multi- 
plication, to  delight  with  beauty  the  thousands  in 
the  city  who  still  have  eyes  to  see  and  ears  to  hear 
and  appreciation  of  the  beautiful.  So  its  influence  is 
to  be  refining  and  elevating,  and  the  little  children 
who  play  upon  it  are  unconsciously  to  drink  in  beauty 
that  will  make  strong  their  souls,  and  that  perhaps 
will  repay  the  city  a thousand  times  in  the  making 
of  better  citizens  and  the  nurturing  of  genius. 

It  is  a moving,  almost  a dramatic,  circumstance 
that  in  the  beautiful  adjustment  to  this  beautiful  end 
— and  is  not  that  the  sum  of  civic  art  ? — there  should 
be  need  to  put  so  much  dependence  upon  the  people 
themselves.  We  have,  too,  to  realise  that  civic  art, 
even  in  this  its  gentler  phase,  is  not  sentiment,  but  is 
merely  the  right  fitting  of  this  part  of  the  city  to  its 
real  urban  purpose  of  home  making.  That  fact  gives 
assurance  of  a success,  if  men  be  true  to  their  ideals, 
that  may  be  hastened,  but  which  we  cannot,  if  we 
would,  arrest. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AMONG  THE  TENEMENTS. 

SOCIAL  problems  are  to  a large  degree  problems 
of  environment.  This  with  increasing  posi- 
tiveness is  the  conclusion  of  modern  scientific 
study  into  the  depths  of  sociology.  Give  to  the  boy 
and  girl  a chance;  make  it  possible  for  them  to  work 
off  sheer  animal  energy  in  harmless  amusements; 
render  homes  pleasant,  and  satisfy  the  craving  of 
men  for  brightness,  entertainment,  and  fellowship 
without  throwing  them  into  temptation  ; let  an 
abundance  of  fresh  air  and  sunshine  into  living  and 
sleeping  rooms,  and  the  slum  will  be  ancient  history 
and  many  of  sociology’s  hardest  problems  will  be 
solved.  The  Juvenile  Court  would  not  have  busi- 
ness enough  to  keep  it  going;  the  saloon  would  have 
its  vigour  sapped  by  a substitute ; the  hospitals 
would  not  require  constant  multiplication.  There 
would  be  more  of  manliness;  there  would  be  purer 
souls,  for  there  would  be  less  temptation;  there 
would  be  saner  minds  because  of  stronger  bodies. 


245 


246 


ffoobern  Civic  art. 


And  out  of  depressing  social  conditions  grow  polit- 
ical evils.  In  the  city  slum  smoulders  the  fire  which 
breaks  forth  in  revolution;  in  the  conditions  of  the 
slum  are  bred  those  iniquities  of  politics  — or  the 
circumstances  which  make  them  possible  — that  may 
render  revolution  justifiable. 

Corrective  rather  than  punitive  measures  have 
long  been  the  goal  of  sociology.  The  ounce  of  pre- 
vention weighs  far  more  than  the  pound  of  cure  — 
even  if  there  be  cure,  which  is  always  doubtful 
— where  there  are  human  lives  to  be  saved,  where 
are  concerned  citizens,  where  souls  as  well  as  bodies 
must  be  fed  or  starved.  Obliterate  the  slum  of  the 
city,  and  shall  we  not  in  very  truth  see  “a  new 
heaven  and  a new  earth  ...  the  holy  city,  new 
Jerusalem,  coming  down  from  God  out  of  heaven  ? ” 

No  two  opinions  can  exist  regarding  the  desira- 
bility of  the  slum’s  abolishment.  The  question  is 
whether  it  can  be  abolished.  We  may  certainly 
dream  of  remedying  its  worst  features,  and  we  must 
act  as  well  as  dream;  but  when  all  is  said  and  done, 
is  not  the  slum,  in  an  improved  form,  a necessary 
evil  of  city  life  ? 

Modern  civic  art,  pausing  at  the  threshold  of  the 
tenement  section  of  a city,  is  confronted  by  that 
question.  It  would  be  sane  and  practical,  whatever 
the  loss  of  lovely  visions;  and  yet  it  would  be  true 
to  itself.  In  the  scientific  rebuilding  or  creation  of  a 
city,  it  would  produce  a genuine  work  of  art,  and 
can  it  permit  one  such  blot,  such  fatal  blemish,  on 


among  tbc  {Tenements. 


247 


its  product  ? The  city  or  town  of  large  population 
will  surely  include  the  very  poor.  To  house  these 
comfortably,  to  bring  into  their  lives  as  much  of  sun- 
shine and  innocent  pleasure  as  possible,  to  keep 
them  in  touch  with  the  great  pulsing  life  of  the  busy 
city  where  the  might  and  joyousness  of  its  industry 
shall  reach  and  thrill  them,  to  give  to  the  children 
space  to  play,  to  the  babies  and  mothers  fresh  air 
and  quiet,  to  make  the  homes  not  only  livable  but 
attractive,  to  awaken  ambition,  to  encourage  the 
love  of  the  beautiful  — would  not  this,  this  glorious 
aggregate,  be  the  first  task  that  civic  art  would  un- 
dertake ? And  behold!  The  old  charm  has  again 
proved  true;  the  magic  road  to  happiness  seems 
ever  to  lead  in  an  oblique  direction:  we  would 
take  the  first  steps  to  help  the  residents  of  the  slum, 
and  before  we  finish  the  slum  is  gone! 

Comfortably  to  house  the  very  poor  — this  was  to 
be  an  early  step  in  the  procedure.  Here  sociology 
joins  hands  with  civic  art  in  most  earnest  endeavour; 
but  it  will  find  some  preliminary  steps  that  it  must 
take  by  itself.  To  secure  better  housing,  there  must 
be  less  crowding,  and  to  gain  that  result  two  courses 
of  action  are  open.  Both  must  be  availed  of.  There 
must,  on  the  one  hand,  be  furnished  a vent  that  will 
make  it  possible  for  the  homes  of  the  poorest  work- 
ers to  cover  an  enlarged  area.  On  the  other  hand, 
some  of  the  workers  must  be  drawn  away,  if  possi- 
ble, to  another  centre  than  that  limited  district 
against  which  the  trade,  industry,  and  wealth  of  the 


248  flDobern  Civic  Hit. 

city  is  forever  pounding  in  pitilessly  encroaching 
waves.  For  the  residue,  always  the  more  numerous 
portion,  that  still  remains,  new  and  better  conditions 
are  to  be  devised. 

To  enlarge  the  area  available  for  tenements,  there 
must  be  cheap  rapid-transit.  These  workers  are 
compelled  to  live  near  in  time  to  their  employment. 
From  the  nomadism  of  the  push  cart  to  the  fixedness 
of  shop  or  fruit-stand,  there  is  requirement  that  the 
home  of  the  worker  be  of  quick  and  easy  accessibil- 
ity. As  competition  is  keener  and  hours  of  labour 
are  longer  in  the  descending  scale  of  employment,  it 
becomes  more  and  more  essential  economically  that 
home  and  work  be  near.  Civic  art  must  give  up  any 
idea,  however  attractive,  of  bringing  the  poor  from 
green  fields  to  daily  labour  in  the  city’s  heart.  Either 
the  labour  must  be  removed  to  the  fields,  or  the 
workman  must  be  housed  in  the  city  in  close  prox- 
imity to  his  work.  He  has  no  time  for  a long  trip 
and  no  money  to  pay  for  it.  The  rapid-transit 
offered,  then,  must  be  — to  aid  the  poorest  — of  the 
cheapest  and  most  rapid. 

There  is  no  means  of  conveyance  as  cheap  as 
walking.  If  this  mode  of  progress  can  be  accelerated 
by  giving  direct  lines  and  streets  so  broad  that  there 
are  no  crowds  to  obstruct  the  pedestrian,  then, 
clearly,  the  area  available  for  the  homes  of  those  who 
must  live  near  their  labour  has  been  much  extended, 
and  the  congestion  may  be  partially  relieved.  At 
the  same  time,  the  broadened  thoroughfares  can  be 


Hmono  tbe  tenements. 


249 


made  pleasant,  cool,  and  refreshing  in  summer  with 
the  shade  of  trees  and  with  the  air  musical  with  the 
ripple  of  running  water.  The  relation  of  the  city 
plan  to  the  tenement  district  becomes  thus  manifest, 
and  there  is  revealed  a need  of  the  same  diagonal 
thoroughfares  that  were  so  convenient  a feature 
of  the  well  planned  business  district  and,  for 
pretty  much  the  same  reasons  as  here,  so  necessary  a 
device  for  the  framework  of  the  general  residential 
area. 

Now,  if  these  diagonals  through  the  poorer  sec- 
tions of  the  city  be  only  those  constituting  the  main 
urban  structure,  we  shall  gain  several  unfortunates 
results.  First,  they  will  not  form  appropriately 
pleasant  approaches  to  the  better  residential  quarters; 
second,  because  they  are  diagonal  arterial  thorough- 
fares leading  directly  to  the  focal  points  of  the  city, 
they  will  offer  to  business  so  irresistible  an  invitation 
that  it  will  sweep  through  them,  probably  destroying 
the  trees  that  had  been  planted  to  make  them  cool 
and  pleasant,  congesting  the  broad  walks  so  that 
progress  is  retarded,  and,  as  if  each  were  a main 
outlet  stream  from  the  tumultuous  sea  of  the  business 
centre,  bursting  the  banks  and  overflowing  in  rivulets 
on  the  side  streets,  to  the  increase  of  pressure  against 
the  tenement  district  and  to  the  wresting  of  territory 
from  that  space  which  is  already  so  cramped.  The 
probability  of  this  second  result  is  to  be  considered 
on  those  occasions,  which  will  therefore  be  rare, 
when  it  would  seem  well  to  purge  a degraded 


250 


flftobern  Civic  Hrt. 


district  by  thrusting  through  it  a broad  stream  of 
business  traffic. 

There  is  need,  then,  of  a distinct  street  system. 
The  framework  of  this  should  consist  of  independent 
diagonals  converging  on  local  centres  that  will  be 
just  off  the  main  lines  of  the  general  urban  plot  but 
with  direct  communication  with  them.  These  local 
centres  might  appropriately  be  open  spaces,  de- 
veloped as  playgrounds  for  the  children  to  whom 
city  streets  were  else  the  total  of  “all  outdoors.” 
And,  however  developed,  such  spaces  would  be  air- 
wells,  deserving  the  name  of  lungs  in  city  anatomy, 
and  located  precisely  where  they  would  benefit  the 
greatest  number  of  people.  To  streets  converging  to 
such  centres  and  independent  of  the  main  system  of 
the  city,  business  would  be  little  drawn.  The  thor- 
oughfares could  be  made  as  broad  and  pleasant  as 
desired,  and  yet  they  would  form  — cutting  through 
this  district  in  diagonal  lines  and  converging  on 
points  that  are  just  off  the  main  highways  of  the 
city  — direct  channels  of  approach  to  the  streets 
where  work  is  done.  The  labourer  might  live  much 
farther  in  space  from  his  work,  while  no  less  near  in 
time,  for  instead  of  narrow,  crowded,  tortuous  streets 
through  which  slowly  to  make  his  way,  he  could  now 
advance  to  it  by  swift  and  easy  strides,  unimpeded, 
and  on  the  shortest  lines.  So  there  would  be  a little 
more  of  pleasantness  brought  into  his  daily  life  and  a 
little  less  of  crowding  into  his  surroundings  — the 
latter  the  first  essential  to  better  housing.  So,  too, 


among  tbe  {Tenements, 


251 


this  portion  of  the  city  would  be  better  adapted  to 
its  purely  urban  requirement,  and  that  is  the  goal  of 
civic  art. 

The  second  step  to  relieve  the  crowding  was  to  be 
the  absolute  withdrawal  of  such  portions  as  possi- 
ble of  the  tenement  population  from  the  necessarily 
limited  area  available  for  its  housing  in  and  near  the 
city’s  heart.  Since  it  is  essential  that  those  in 
the  lower  scales  of  employment  shall  live  close  to  the 
workshop,  the  workshop  must  itself  be  removed. 
For  many  forms  of  employment,  notably  manufacture, 
there  are  fortunately  advantages  to  the  employer  as 
well  as  to  the  employee  in  removal.  The  cheaper 
land  values,  for  instance,  the  pleasanter  and  whole- 
somer  natural  surroundings,  the  consequent  better 
physical  condition  of  the  employees,  and  the  lessened 
distractions  to  tempt  them  (with  a resulting  greater 
steadiness  in  labour  as  well  as  capacity  for  it)  offer 
in  the  aggregate  powerful  economic  inducements  to 
employers  for  removal  whenever  satisfactory  trans- 
portation facilities  can  be  arranged.  As  a result, 
industrial  suburbs  are  now  springing  up  where  the 
habitable  area  is  not  closely  limited  — in  short,  on  the 
outer  rims  of  cities,  precisely  where  — significantly 
enough  — the  British  Garden  City  Association  has 
designed  in  its  model  towns  to  put  them. 

These  manufacturing  suburbs,  especially  when 
they  have  grown  around  a single  industry  so  afford- 
ing to  the  humanity  and  public  spirit  of  a few  persons 
an  opportunity  to  achieve  substantial  results,  are 


252  flDo&ern  Civic  art, 

often  developed  on  very  artistic  lines.  Thus  they 
are  fraught  with  much  less  danger  than  might  be 
fancied  to  the  residential  portions  of  the  town.  In 
the  first  place,  the  more  exclusive  and  fashionable 
quarters  will  be  shunned  owing  to  the  greater  cost 
of  land.  In  the  second  place,  the  area  over  which 
the  plants  can  be  scattered  is  so  enormously  increased 
— large  establishments  may  locate  as  far  as  twenty 
miles  from  great  cities  — that  there  is  none  of  the 
former  crowding  with  its  attendant  evils.  Finally, 
the  taking  place  of  the  movement  has  been  coincident 
with  a more  scientific  regard  for  town  construction, 
while  the  very  spur  to  it  is  so  largely  found  in  the 
wish  to  secure  surroundings  that  are  pleasanter  and 
wholesomer  that  the  factory  itself,  now  vine-covered 
and  garden-surrounded,  is  less  to  be  dreaded.  The 
homes  and  street  surroundings  of  the  residents, 
earners  of  low  wages  though  these  be,  are  rendered 
attractive  and  even  beautiful.  In  fact,  the  residents 
no  longer  represent  a tenement  population.  They 
are  that  population  transplanted,  and  not  merely 
transplanted  but  thereby  transformed,  and  their 
homes  are  no  longer  tenements  in  the  usually  ac- 
cepted sense. 

The  point  to  be  made  here,  then,  is  only  this: 
that  the  act  of  removal  is  a blessing  to  the  real  tene- 
ment quarters  even  when  influenced  by  economic 
considerations  alone;  while  frequently  it  is  really  an 
achievement  of  that  phase  of  civic  art  which  finds  its 
incentive  in  a sociological  impulse.  The  popular 


among  tbe  tenements 


253 


lectures  in  England  on  the  housing  question,  that 
were  endowed  by  a legacy  of  the  late  Earl  of  Shaftes- 
bury, take,  for  example,  the  removal  of  manufactures 
to  the  suburbs  of  cities  as  the  panacea  they  especially 
commend.1  This  is  also  the  main  hope  of  relief  held 
out  by  Dr.  Weber  in  his  exhaustive  study  of  the 
growth  of  cities.2 

Pressure  in  the  tenement  district  having  been 
relieved  as  far  as  practicable,  both  by  the  withdrawal 
of  some  of  the  population  and  by  the  enlargement 
of  the  available  area,  we  have  to  consider  the  im- 
provement of  the  district’s  internal  conditions  that  it 
may  be  as  little  of  a blot  as  possible  on  the  city. 
Where  there  are  concentrated  so  many  elements  of 
picturesqueness,  civic  art  should  certainly  secure  some 
contribution  to  the  interest  and  charm  of  the  city;  and 
where  so  large  a portion  of  its  population  finds  a 
home,3  it  is  under  particular  obligation,  moral  and 
social,  to  make  life  not  merely  bearable  but  pleasant. 

1 Striking  illustrations  may  be  pointed  out  of  this  new  industrial  movement  in, 
for  example,  Port  Sunlight,  England,  with  its  model  cottages,  its  allotment  gardens, 
garden  plots,  and  flower  shows;  in  Cadbury’s  Bourneville  Village  Trust,  just  out  of 
Birmingham;  in  the  Krupp  city  of  Essen,  Germany;  in  the  Westinghouse  com- 
munity near  Pittsburg;  in  the  transformation  wrought  by  the  National  Cash  Re- 
gister Company  at  Dayton,  Ohio;  and  in  the  developments  at  the  Acme  White  Lead 
and  Colour  Works,  Detroit,  where  there  has  been  adopted  the  motto,  “ Take  hold 
and  lift.”  The  success  of  these  settlements  indicates  that  industrial  regard  for  civic 
aesthetics  is  not  a concession  to  sentimental  impulse  on  the  part  of  manufacturers 
who  are  willing,  for  its  sake,  to  sacrifice  something  of  efficiency;  but  that  it  is 
a phase  of  the  effort  to  secure  the  latter.  It  is  based  on  a recognition  of  the  fact  that 
the  labourer  is  a better  workman  if  the  environment  of  home  and  shop  be  shorn  of 
dreariness;  if  his  higher  impulses  be  fed,  not  starved,  and  he  be  made  more  man  and 
less  machine. 

5 The  Growth  of  Cities  in  the  Nineteenth  Century , by  Adna  Ferrin  Weber. 

8 It  is  not  unusual  in  large  cities  for  half  of  the  population  to  live  in  tenements, 
using  the  word  in  even  its  narrower  sense. 


254 


fDofcern  Civic  art. 


It  should  be  understood,  of  course,  that  the  tene- 
ment population  is  really  of  as  many  gradations  as 
that  in  the  other  residential  areas;  and  we  have  to 
assume  in  scientific  city-building  that  there  has  been 
a constant  drawing  away,  from  the  small  and  con- 
gested tenement  district,  of  the  upper  stratum  of 
the  population.  The  influx  is  at  the  bottom;  the  in- 
ternal effort,  so  far  as  it  exceeds  a mere  struggle  for 
existence,  is  to  rise;  and  the  removals  are  from  the 
top.  This  is  a discouraging  condition  as  far  as  the 
abolishing  of  the  slum  is  concerned,  though  one  full 
of  encouragement  in  its  broader  humanitarian  aspect. 
The  upper  stratum  when  drawn  away  is  scattered 
about  the  city,  in  a higher  grade  of  apartment  houses 
or  tenements,  standing  by  themselves  and  inhabited 
by  those  whose  work  is  in  their  neighbourhood. 
It  does  not  create  a new  tenement  district;  and 
thus  the  reference  to  such  an  area  is  to  be  under- 
stood as  applying  simply  to  the  section  of  the  city  in 
which  are  huddled  its  poorest  citizens  and  where  the 
city’s  aspect  is  normally  most  dismal  and  depressing. 
By  artificial  means  of  rapid-transit,  the  withdrawal 
and  dissipation  of  the  upper  stratum  may  be  con- 
siderably facilitated,  pedestrianism  being  happily  not 
the  sole  resource.  But  even  with  the  best  facilities 
there  is  little  chance  of  more  than  balancing  the  in- 
flow with  the  out-take,  and  the  district  is  yet  to  be 
considered. 

A right  conception  of  the  municipality’s  obligation 
to  its  residents  would  insure,  as  it  now  is  insuring. — 


among  tbe  tenements. 


255 


though  rather  through  considerations  of  hygiene 
and  sociology  than  those  of  political  justice, — the 
supplementing  of  good  street  planning  with  im- 
proved surface  treatment.  Broad  walks  are  more 
necessary  here  than  broad  roadways,  although  this 
change  in  conditions  is  almost  never  recognised  in 
the  street’s  development.  Even  the  pavement, 
where  so  much  of  life  is  spent  on  the  street,  wiil 
be  largely  used  as  a floor,  and  cleanliness  is  a prime 
necessity. 

In  this  part  of  the  city,  then,  modern  civic  art, 
largely  because  it  is  modern,  must  concern  itself 
with  the  rudiments  of  city-building.  A convenient 
and  potentially  beautiful  arrangement  of  streets;  the 
broadening  of  the  main  thoroughfares  in  order  that 
there  may  be  easy  progress  through  them,  that  they 
may  be  made  pleasant  with  trees,  and  that  they  at 
least  may  allow  the  free  circulation  of  air;  the  broad- 
ening of  the  walks;  and  the  most  improved  surface 
development  of  the  streets  — the  paving  of  the  road- 
ways with  asphalt  and  their  frequent  flushing,  and 
the  provision  when  possible  of  a central  strip  on  the 
main  highways  where  the  trees  shall  stand  and  a 
pleasant  walk  may  pass  beneath  them  — all  these 
quite  elementary  steps  will  be  the  goal  of  civic  art 
itself  and  logically  will  precede  the  attempts  at  better 
housing.  As  to  the  location  of  the  reserved  strip,  it 
may  be  well  to  point  out  the  advantages  in  this 
district  of  placing  the  trees  in  the  centre  of  the  road- 
way instead  of  at  the  curbs.  First,  the  arrangement 


256  HDobern  Civic  art. 

is  better  for  the  trees.  They  will  have  more  room 
for  symmetrical  development  than  if  placed  at  the 
curb,  for  the  houses  will  be  built  flush  with  the 
street  leaving  only  the  walk’s  width  between  tree 
and  house;  their  trunks  will  be  subject  to  less  fre- 
quent and  less  serious  injury,  while  there  will  be 
also  a better  opportunity  for  the  nourishment  of  the 
roots,  both  by  enriching  the  soil  and  by  the  ground’s 
absorption  of  moisture.  Second,  it  will  be  better  for 
the  residents,  since  trees  planted  at  the  curb  — if 
they  did  flourish  — would  darken  the  houses.  Third, 
it  will  be  better  for  the  appearance  of  the  streets, 
individually  and  collectively  — individually  because 
the  trees  will  grow  better,  and  collectively  because 
open  space  will  be  united  with  open  space  by  a belt 
of  green  instead  of  standing  as  isolated,  disjointed 
oases  without  seeming  connection  or  structural 
naturalness.  Fourth,  and  finally,  the  arrangement 
will  be  better  because  of  its  division  of  the  traffic 
into  separate  streams  of  opposite  direction,  to  the 
considerable  increase  of  rapidity. 

On  the  central  strips  of  this  district  there  should 
be  no  attempt  to  provide  turf.  They  should  be 
great  bare  playgrounds  overhung  with  trees,  and  so 
stretched  out  that  every  portion  of  the  area  may 
have  one  which  is  readily  accessible.  Through  the 
middle  of  them  there  should  run  a broad  walk,  with 
crown  enough  to  keep  it  dry,  and  with  seats  at 
close  intervals  on  its  edges.  If  there  be  surface 
traction  on  the  street,  it  should  not  be  suffered  to 


among  tbe  tenements. 


257 


trespass  on  this  middle  space  that  will  prove  so 
precious  to  the  children.  Once  on  the  middle  strip, 
they  should  be  as  safe  as  in  a designated  play- 
ground. Finally,  the  strip  must  be  well  lighted,  that 
it  may  be  as  safe  at  night  for  adults  as  in  the  day- 
time for  the  children. 

Coming  now  to  the  housing  question,  a subject 
is  approached  that  has  immense  importance,  an  al- 
most baffling  complexity,  and  absorbing  interest.  A 
student  of  the  problem  who  is  also  an  active  settle- 
ment worker  has  written,  after  a sojourn  in  England 
among  those  who  are  trying  to  solve  it,  that  he 
could  not  escape  a feeling  that  the  country  is  “ a bit 
hysterical”  on  this  matter;  but  he  adds  that  un- 
doubtedly “England  has  no  municipal  problem 
paramount  to  that  of  housing,”  and  that  “in  New 
York  and  one  or  two  other  American  cities”  the  ex- 
isting evils  are  not  less  flagrant.1  We  have  first  to 
remind  ourselves,  then,  that  our  own  subject  is  not 
sociology  but  civic  art.  The  themes  merge  again 
and  again  — a fact  that  is  the  chief  glory  of  the 
modern  conception  of  civic  aesthetics  — so  that  the 
distinctions  have  sometimes  to  be  purely  arbitrary. 
We  may  reasonably  assert,  however,  that  civic  art 
need  concern  itself  only  with  the  outward  aspect  of 
the  houses,  and  therefore  that  for  such  details  — 
sociologically  pressing  though  they  are  — as  sunless 
bedrooms,  dark  halls  and  stairs,  foul  cellars,  danger- 
ous employments,  and  an  absence  of  bathrooms, 

1 See  Municipal  Affairs,  vol.  vi.,  No  3. 


17 


258  flDobern  Givtc  Hct. 

civic  art  has  no  responsibility,  however  earnestly  it 
deplores  them. 

In  the  first  place,  it  should  be  observed  that  in 
the  tenement  district  mere  density  of  population  is 
not  a sure  indication  of  overcrowding  — that  is,  the 
number  of  persons  per  acre  may  rise  without  a cor- 
responding increase  in  wretchedness  and,  it  may 
even  be,  with  a bettering  of  conditions.  A surer 
test  is  the  ratio  between  the  population  and  the  floor 
area.  On  the  broader  streets  of  the  district,  civic 
art,  recognising  that  a very  dense  population  must 
be  cared  for,  will  advocate  the  erection  of  higher 
buildings,  if  there  be  sufficient  lire  protection.  For 
the  two  or  three  upper  floors  of  a series  of  tall  build- 
ings, or  for  a very  large  structure,  it  should  be 
possible  to  provide  elevator  service.  The  halls  on 
the  upper  stories  of  such  a series  of  buildings  could 
be  connected  so  that  one  elevator  would  serve  them 
all,  and  the  greater  height  above  the  ground  would 
thus  involve  no  hardships  that  had  not  full  com- 
pensation in  the  lessened  noise  from  the  street  and 
the  better  air.  It  may  be  expected  also  that  the 
large  buildings,  representing  a greater  investment, 
will  be  better  constructed. 

On  the  side  streets  the  dependence  will  be  mainly 
on  strict  adherence  to  a tenement-house  building 
law  that  has  been  framed  in  obedience  to  enlight- 
ened opinions  and  humanitarian  purposes.  This  will 
demand  that  a reasonable  proportion  of  each  lot 
shall  be  left  free  from  building.  Such  requirement 


among  tbe  tenements. 


259 


gives  a chance  for  air  wells  and  for  light.1  The 
method  of  constructing  the  “model  tenements,” 
whether  by  the  municipality,  as  so  frequently  in 
Great  Britain;  or  by  co-operative  societies,  as  famili- 
arly on  the  Continent;  or  exclusively  by  private 
capital,  as  in  the  United  States,  is  not  a problem  for 
civic  art.  It  has  to  be  concerned  with  the  more 
serious  question  of  whether  these  houses  intended 
for  the  very  poor  are  really  occupied  by  them,  and 
not  by  people  of  superior  means  and  less  need. 
There  will  be  danger  that  the  latter,  attracted  thither 
by  low  rents,  comfortable  quarters,  and  pleasant  sur- 
roundings, may  drive  out  those  of  greatest  poverty 
for  whom  all  this  had  been  devised.  This  is  not  an 
easy  thing  to  regulate;  but  if  the  city  be  so  planned 
and  built  up,  and  its  wise  ordinances  so  enforced, 
that  there  are  no  rookeries,  that  there  is  nothing 
worse  than  this  to  which  the  poor  can  go,  it  still 
will  succeed  in  its  general  purpose.  For  then,  if 
driven  forth  from  here,  they  would  only  be  scattered, 
faring  no  worse  wherever  they  went  as  far  as  lodg- 
ing goes. 

There  is,  however,  one  step  that  may  be  taken 
of  which  the  tendency  will  be  a restriction  of  resid- 
ence in  the  district  to  the  class  for  whom  the  district 
is  designed.  And  in  most  cases  this  designing,  we 
should  remember,  is  not  a theoretical  allotment  of 
space,  but  will  be  simply  a readjustment,  to  increase 

1 The  ordinance  adopted  in  New  York,  after  the  Tenement  House  Commission 
had  reported  in  1896,  designated  one-fourth,  an  amount  subsequently  increased  to 
thirty  per  cent. 


26  c 


fiDobern  Civic  art. 


the  comfort  of  those  already  quartered  there.  This 
step  will  be  based  on  the  circumstance,  not  less  true 
in  London  than  in  any  city  of  America,  that  the  low- 
est stratum  of  society  is  largely  made  up  of  foreign- 
ers. In  the  effort  not  so  much  to  naturalise  them 
as,  rather,  to  conform  them  to  an  accepted  type  of  the 
native  poor,  the  usual  depressing  effects  are  secured. 
The  ideal  is  low;  the  hearts  of  the  subjects  cannot 
be  in  it,  for  it  is  alien  as  well  as  wretched,  and  only 
miserable  results  are  obtained.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  are  in  this  population  extraordinary  elements 
of  urban  picturesqueness.  Representations  of  the 
home  life  of  the  poor  of  all  the  Continent  of  Europe 
and  of  half  of  Asia  may  easily  be  huddled  on  six 
hundred  feet  of  street-front  in  London,  Chicago,  or 
"New  York.  In  each  city,  too,  there  are  neighbour- 
hoods given  up  to  the  settlers  from  a single  distant 
land  and  called  foreign  “colonies.”  But  all  the 
picturesqueness  and  as  much  as  possible  of  the 
romance  have  been  crushed  out  of  these,  and  one 
would  hardly  know,  save  for  rich  complexions,  that 
here  was  “ Little  Italy”;  and,  save  for  queues,  that 
there  was  “Chinatown.” 

Now  if,  instead  of  crushing  the  natural  instincts 
and  starving  the  national  longings,  these  were  frankly 
catered  to  by  the  city, — in  so  far  as  they  violated  no 
broadly  conceived  laws,  or  just  standards  of  morality, 
— there  would  be  developed  here  altogether  the  most 
interesting  section  of  the  town.  To  accomplish  this 
and  so  to  add  much  to  the  happiness  of  the  people 


among  tbe  (Tenements.  261 

as  well  as  to  the  interest  of  the  city,  the  municipality 
could  well  afford  to  be  liberal  in  the  local  interpreta- 
tion of  its  regular  ordinances.  And  having  once 
developed  here  the  street  features  that  respectively 
make  the  German,  Italian,  Frenchman,  and  Chinaman 
entirely  at  home  in  the  street,  there  would  be  much 
less  danger  that  more  prosperous  natives  would  come 
back  to  a quarter  where  they  could  not  feel  at  home, 
even  though  it  had  been  successfully  transformed  for 
the  comfort  of  the  poor. 

Much  is  said  of  the  necessity  of  assimilation  in  a 
city;  but  if  the  ideal  of  the  happy  and  prosperous 
classes  of  their  own  home  beyond  the  sea  be  put 
before  these  people,  instead  of  that  of  the  lowest 
stratum  of  the  native  population,  and  the  phil- 
anthropical  forces  of  the  community  co-operate  in 
the  work,  there  is  hardly  room  for  doubt  that  better 
citizens  would  be  made.  Incidentally,  they  would  be 
happier,  and  that  is  a factor.  It  should  be  said,  too, 
that  all  the  time  the  city  will  be  impressing  its 
own  individuality  on  the  district.  On  every  piece 
of  municipal  apparatus  even  here  the  city’s  stamp 
will  appear;  and  by  reiteration  there  will  arise  a con- 
sciousness and  love  of  that  abstract  thing,  the  city, 
as  surely  as  the  love  of  the  concrete  neighbourhood. 
Just  as  the  flag,  flying  everywhere,  comes  to  be  loved 
as  the  symbol  of  the  nation,  so  this  insignia  will  be 
loved  because  it  stands  for  a loved  city,  apprehended 
by  this  means  as  the  all-embracing  entity.  And 
sentiment,  in  this  part  of  the  town  particularly,  is 


262  ftoobern  Civic  art, 

the  most  powerful  of  forces  for  social  and  civic  good 

or  ill. 

With  the  housing  problem  civic  art,  its  attention 
on  the  outward  aspect  of  the  town,  has  little  further 
to  do.  In  the  quarter  or  more  of  the  building  lot 
which  the  law  will  require  to  be  left  open,  it  may 
find  a chance  for  the  development  of  a court  or  back 
yard;  but  unless  several  of  these  adjoin  one  another 
the  opportunity  will  be  small  and  it  must,  at  best,  be 
individual,  not  affecting  the  urban  prospect  from  the 
street.  The  plotting  of  the  thoroughfares,  their  sur- 
face development,  and  the  treatment  of  the  open 
spaces  upon  which  they  are  to  focus  constitute  the 
proper  problems  of  municipal  aesthetics  in  adapting 
to  its  purpose  that  part  of  the  town  where  dwell  the 
poorest  citizens.  The  treatment  of  the  squares  now 
alone  remains  to  be  discussed. 

In  plotting  the  open  spaces,  suggestion  was  made 
that  they  might  be  developed  as  much-needed  play- 
grounds in  a section  densely  populated  with  children 
and  far  removed  from  the  country,  or  from  those 
roomier  portions  of  the  town  where  private  gardens 
dress  the  streets  with  beauty  and  afford  space  for 
play.  It  was  said  that,  at  all  events,  they  would 
prove  breathing  places  where  the  people  of  close 
streets  and  narrow  quarters  might  come  for  air  and 
rest  and  freedom.  The  questions  now  are  whether 
they  should  be  anything  more  than  vacant  areas,  left 
bare  that  children  may  romp  at  will,  or,  possibly, 
furnished  with  gymnasium  apparatus;  or  whether, 


among  tbe  tenements. 


263 


on  the  other  hand,  there  should  be  attempts  to  make 
them  beautiful;  and,  in  the  latter  case,  the  kind  of 
beauty  to  be  sought. 

If  it  be  assumed  that  the  plot  of  the  tenement  dis- 
trict shows  a number  of  open  spaces  separated  by 
little  distance,  there  will  be  much  to  recommend 
variety  in  the  treatment.  The  district  will  include 
people  of  a variety  of  taste  in  recreation,  and  while 
at  least  one  open  space  may  be  developed  as  a play- 
ground and  furnished  with  swings,  outdoor  gym- 
nasium apparatus,  a wading  pool,  and  a public 
comfort  house,  and  with  numerous  seats  for  the 
mothers,  another,  with  equal  reasonableness,  may 
have  a band-stand  as  its  dominating  motif,  while  a 
third,  perhaps  no  less  popular  and  certainly  no  less 
loved,  will  be  a garden  spot  gay  with  flowers  and 
beautiful  with  stretches  of  greensward  and  great 
trees. 

The  first  two  types  of  development  hardly  require 
pleading  or  apology.  If  there  be  fear  that  the  third 
be  not  quite  worth  while  lest  it  be  not  fully  appreci- 
ated among  the  tenements,  assurance  may  be  drawn 
from  facts  and  figures  collected  by  Jacob  A.  Riis,  the 
most  sympathetic  of  tenement  students,  and  one 
thoroughly  reliable.  He  refers  in  one  of  his  latest 
studies,  the  story  of  the  “Ten  Years’  War  ” to  better 
social  conditions  among  the  poor  of  New  York,  to  a 
finding  of  the  Tenement  House  Commission.  This 
showed  “three  hundred  and  twenty-four  thousand 
persons  living  out  of  sight  and  reach  of  a green  spot 


264 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


of  any  kind,”  surely  an  evidence  of  unwise  city 
planning,  and  a condition  for  civic  art  to  shudder  at. 
When  an  open  space  had  been  created  among  the 
huddled  homes  of  this  population,  he  describes  the 
significant  spectacle  of  children  “gazing  in  rapt  ad- 
miration at  the  poor  show  of  a dozen  geraniums  and 
English  ivy  plants,  in  pots  on  the  window-sill  of  the 
overseer’s  cottage,”  adding  that  “they  stood  for  ten 
minutes  at  a time  resting  their  eyes  upon  them.  In 
the  crowd  were  aged  women  and  bearded  men. 
They  moved  slowly,  when  crowded  out,  looking 
back  many  times  at  the  enchanted  spot.”  Referring 
to  a playground  in  Chicago,  Riis  suggests  the  civilis- 
ing influence  of  a bit  of  nature’s  beauty.  “The  police 
lieutenant,”  he  says,  “ has  had  a tree  called  after  him. 
The  boys  that  did  that  used  to  be  terrors.  Now  they 
take  care  of  the  trees.  They  plead  for  a low  limb 
that  is  in  the  way,  that  no  one  may  cut  it  off.”  In 
the  aristocratic  portions  of  the  town,  few  would  care 
if  a troublesome  limb  were  removed,  and  the  citizens 
would  not  think  to  name  a tree  for  their  hero. 

For  such  truly  appreciative  spirits  as  these  should 
civic  art’s  republic  be  created.  If  there  be  induce- 
ment to  bring  beauty  into  the  city  for  the  sake  of 
those  who  may  find  it  by  travel  if  it  be  not  around 
their  homes,  how  much  more  is  there  inducement  to 
provide  it  for  those  who  hunger  for  it  and  have  no 
other  place  to  seek  it;  for  those  who,  having  hun- 
gered, feast  upon  such  as  is  given,  finding  a banquet 
in  crumbs!  And  how  much  more  than  merely  sense 


among  tbe  tenements. 


265 


satisfaction  they  gain  from  it ! The  assertion  is  made 
(by  Dr.  L.  S.  Rowe  ’)  that  “at  the  present  time  the 
attractiveness  of  the  saloon  is  greatly  enhanced  by 
reason  of  the  uninviting  appearance  of  the  streets  in 
certain  of  our  large  cities.  . . . The  distinction 

between  good  and  bad  citizenship  runs  parallel  with 
the  line  of  division  between  the  wholesome  and  in- 
jurious use  of  leisure.”  The  opportunities  in  cities 
for  the  elevating  and  healthful  use  of  leisure  ought, 
then,  to  be  readily  accessible  and  abundant. 

The  square  that  is  given  over  to  planting  for 
beauty’s  sake  should  have  many  seats  in  it,  that  its 
enjoyment  may  be  encouraged.  It  should  be  well 
lighted,  for  light  is  the  best  policeman,  as  Emerson 
said,  and  that  depredations  be  not  too  easy  perenni- 
als should  here  be  used  as  freely  as  possible.  But 
in  such  planting  in  this  quarter,  brilliant  effects  are  to 
be  sought  and  there  must  be  a sequence  of  bloom,  so 
that  from  the  first  violet  and  earliest  crocus  to  the 
latest  aster  no  week  may  lack  its  blossoms  to  gladden 
drooping  spirits  and  brighten  dull  surroundings. 
From  this  point  of  view,  the  distribution  of  seeds  and 
bulbs  among  the  poor,  that  they  may  have  window 
boxes,  is  of  interest  to  civic  art  for  other  than  merely 
the  decorative  effect  of  the  blooms  when  seen  from 
the  street. 

As  to  the  band-stand,  the  Bethnal  Green  improve- 
ment in  London  offers  a suggestion  not  merely  for 
the  placing  of  the  stand  but  for  that  convergence  of 

1 University  of  Pennsylvania. 


266 


flDo&ern  Civic  art. 


streets  to  the  open  space  as  a focal  centre,  which 
was  to  be  a feature  of  the  topography  of  the  area. 
Here  the  band-stand  is  in  the  centre  of  a space  an 
acre  or  more  in  extent.  The  area  is  encircled  by 
a street,  and  from  this  belting  thoroughfare  seven 
streets  radiate,  connecting  the  area  closely  with  the 
general  street  system  of  the  district.'-  These  new 
streets  were  made  forty  to  sixty  feet  wide,  taking 
the  place  of  old  eighteen-foot  streets.  The  band- 
stand is  on  a terraced  mound,  secured  by  dumping 
the  earth  obtained  from  digging  the  foundations 
of  the  neighbouring  municipal  tenements,  with  a 
result  not  only  artistically  effective  but  much  more 
economical  than  if  it  had  been  carted  away.  Here, 
when  the  band  plays,  there  is  a great  outpouring  of 
people  from  all  around;  and  it  may  be  doubted 
whether,  even  among  the  music-loving  Italians  who 
throng  the  Piazza  St.  Marco  on  a music  night  and 
make  it  “the  gayest  scene  in  Europe,”  there  is  more 
of  real  enjoyment  than  among  these  poor  East-enders 
of  London  when,  a stone’s  throw  from  their  homes, 
they  sit  among  the  flowers  and  listen  to  a band. 

It  has  been  a reproach  hurled  often  against  our 
modern  cities  that  they  have  a tenement  problem; 
that  the  conditions  of  modern  industry  bring  to  the 
city  far  greater  numbers  than  can  be  comfortably 
handled  there,  so  that  men  and  women  and  children 
are  huddled  together  like  animals,  all  the  beauty 

1 The  Bethnal  Green  improvement,  it  should  be  remembered,  was  not  on  the 
original  plot;  but  was  a late  transformation  of  a badly  congested  district,  requiring 
an  artificial  connection  with  its  surroundings. 


among  tbc  {Tenements. 


267 


crushed  out  of  their  lives,  and  no  sunshine  left  to 
them  save  such  as  God  had  put  into  their  hearts. 
But  this  crowding  of  the  poor  is  not  a new  evil  of 
urban  life,  in  the  multiplication  of  cities  it  is  more 
far-reaching  than  ever  before;  but  there  has  never 
been  a city  that  did  not  have  it.  The  civic  art  of 
other  times  has  closed  its  eyes  to  this  condition. 
Let  us  make  the  municipality  fair  and  great,  it  has 
said,  stately  in  those  showier  parts  by  which  men 
judge  of  cities.  Here  let  the  poor  take  their  ease 
and,  forgetful  of  the  wretched  homes  they  leave,  re- 
joice in  the  prosperity  they  may  see  but  cannot  touch, 
and  be  proud  that  they  are  citizens.  Because  that  for- 
mer civic  art  was  thus  aristocratic,  because  itsoughtto 
provide  beauty  for  the  few,  to  the  neglect  and  disre- 
gard of  the  many,  there  was  coincident  with  it  much 
of  iniquity  in  the  lower  circles  of  urban  life  and  of 
corruption  in  the  higher.  To  be  enduring  and  effect- 
ive, in  the  best  sense  of  those  terms,  civic  art  must 
be  democratic,  and  the  desire  to  be  that  brings  with 
it  the  problem  of  the  tenement  district. 

Modern  civic  art  may  not  have  solved  the  pro- 
blem, but  it  has  a dream  of  doing  so.  It  has  dared 
to  acknowledge  the  existence  of,  and  then  has  had 
the  courage  to  try  to  remedy,  that  evil  which  the 
civic  art  of  other  times  did  not  admit.  Until  the 
municipality  is  beautiful  in  every  portion  ; until  there 
is  a complete  adaptation  to  purposes  and  functions; 
until  its  citizens,  the  lowly  as  well  as  the  rich,  are 
rendered  as  comfortable  as  municipal  science  and 


268 


flDobertt  Civic  art. 


humanity  can  make  them,  modern  civic  art  will  scorn 
to  call  its  conquest  complete.  That  is  why  a discus- 
sion of  the  tenement  district  is  necessary  now  as 
well  as  possible  in  considering  civic  art,  and  that  it  is 
discussed  is  the  highest  glory  of  that  art. 


THE  CITY  AT  LARGE. 


ft 


I# 


269 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

COMPREHENSIVE  PLANNING. 

IN  the  development  of  an  artistically  built  city, 
problems  have  appeared  within  problems.  It 
has  been  found  necessary  to  divide  the  city 
into  parts,  according  to  the  purposes  it  serves;  and 
each  of  these  parts  has  presented  a question  of  de- 
velopment by  itself,  while  the  great,  all-embracing 
urban  problem  has  proved  to  be  the  co-ordination 
of  these  into  a single  scheme  comprehensive  and 
harmonious.  We  come  now,  in  the  building  and 
placing  of  certain  large  institutions,  to  a series  of 
problems  that  are  most  attractive  and  interesting. 
They  stand  by  themselves,  unhampered  by  require- 
ments of  close  conformity  to  conditions  around  them, 
asking  only  — for  the  city’s  beauty’s  sake  — that 
they  have  the  loveliest  and  stateliest  solution  that 
may  be  found. 

There  is  evidence  of  progress  in  the  perception 
that  the  problems  are  collective — in  a recognition  that 
their  sum  is  far  more  than  an  architectural  question. 


271 


272 


ffl>obern  Civic  Hit. 


For  merely  to  build  with  an  eye  to  beauty,  while 
itself  a forward  step,  is  the  first  one  to  be  taken; 
but  first  to  place  well  and  then  to  build  well 
shows  a yet  further  advance.  “Man,”  says  Bacon, 
“comes  to  build  stately  sooner  than  garden  finely, 
as  if  gardening  were  the  greater  perfection  and 
John  Addington  Symonds,  writing  of  the  Renaiss- 
ance in  Italy,  remarks,  “ Architecture  is  always  the 
first  of  the  fine  arts  to  emerge  from  barbarism  in 
the  service  of  religion  and  of  civic  life.  A house,  as 
Hegel  says,  must  be  built  for  the  god,  before  the 
god,  carved  in  stone  or  figured  in  mosaic,  can  be 
placed  there  ” ; and  council  chambers,  he  continues, 
“ must  be  prepared  for  the  senate  of  a state  before  the 
national  achievements  can  be  painted  on  the  walls.” 

With  this  suggestion  before  us  of  the  evolution 
in  the  art  of  building,  we  shall  do  well  to  observe  in 
what  stage  of  progress  various  cities  and  parts  of 
cities  are,  and  under  what  conditions  there  is  real- 
ised that  degree  of  advance  involved  in  seeking  to 
supplement  good  architecture  by  a lovely  and  ap- 
propriate setting. 

When  the  Pantheon  in  Paris,  the  Royal  Exchange 
in  London,  the  Bulfinch  State  House  in  Boston,  had 
stood  for  many  years  with  bare  interior  walls,  there 
were  interesting  and  successful  efforts  to  beautify 
them  with  mural  paintings.  The  structures,  in 
brief,  having  been  completed,  “ achievements”  were 
painted  on  the  walls.  The  later  Criminal  Courts 
building  in  New  York  and  the  Court-House  in  Balti- 


Comprehensive  planning.  273 

more  were  hardly  finished  before  the  municipal  art 
societies  took  steps  to  adorn  them  with  wall 
paintings.  The  Boston  Public  Library,  the  National 
Library  in  Washington,  the  little  Appellate  Court- 
House  in  New  York, — each  locally  a later  construc- 
tion still, — had  the  decoration  of  their  interior  walls 
planned  with  almost  as  much  original  certainty  and 
confidence  as  the  adornment  of  their  exteriors. 
There  was  immediate  cp-operation  between  the 
architects  and  the  painters  and  sculptors.  From  the 
first  step,  then,  of  a demand  for  an  outwardly  beauti- 
ful as  well  as  convenient  structure,  we  can  observe 
in  modern  civic  art  an  advance  — slow  and  tentative 
at  first,  but  finally  confident  — to  a demand  for  a 
building  beautiful  within  and  without.  The  second 
step  is  at  last  taken  with  assurance. 

The  buildings  which  stood  for  its  taking,  it  may 
be  noted,  were  representative  also  of  intellectual 
endeavour.  The  persons  responsible  for  their  plan- 
ning were  necessarily  men  of  culture  in  that  term’s 
broad  sense  of  a taste  naturally  refined  as  well  as 
educated.  But  even  the  buildings  erected  at  their 
behest  and  with  their  recommendations  covered  each 
its  full  lot.  They  had  no  architectural  setting  and 
much  less  the  advantage  of  gardening.  Consider- 
ations of  economy  may  have  discouraged  such  a 
demand,  just  as  they  once  discouraged  interior  en- 
richment and,  before  that,  exterior  embellishment, — 
until  these  things  came  to  be  considered  as  essential. 
The  third  step  still  remained  to  be  taken. 

18 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


274 


Here  and  there,  on  the  outskirts  of  cities,  villas 
and  palaces  had  been  rising  for  hundreds  of  years, 
set  so  consistently  and  harmoniously  among  their 
gardens  that  house  and  estate  made  a single  lovely 
composition.  But  these,  raised  for  the  gratification 
of  individuals,  were  private,  not  public,  art.  Archi- 
tecture, “the  first  of  the  fine  arts  to  emerge  from 
barbarism  in  the  service  of  civic  life,”  was  accom- 
panied now  in  many  public  structures  by  decoration 
within  doors,  but  not  yet  by  gardening.  Even 
the  universities,  rising  building  by  building  and 
gaining  steadily  in  resources  and  visible  splendour, 
scattered  their  new  structures  hit  or  miss  about 
their  grounds. 

There  has  been,  until  the  last  few  years,  no  sys- 
tem, no  orderliness,  no  idea  of  gaining  an  aggregate 
effect  that  should  be  more  impressive  than  any  series 
of  individual  results  could  be.  Even  now,  the  co- 
operation has  appeared  only  spasmodically,  and 
almost  wholly  among  the  richer  institutions  as  if  the 
creation  of  a general  scheme  for  harmonious  devel- 
opment were  a luxury,  and  not  a bit  of  economy  far 
more  needed  by  the  poorer  college  than  by  the  rich 
university.  The  latter  will  be  imposing  from  the 
very  multiplicity  of  its  buildings  and  the  magni- 
ficence of  some  of  them,  however  improvidently  they 
may  be  scattered  ; the  former  has  need  to  foster  its 
every  incidental  opportunity  and  to  gain  all  the 
effectiveness  it  can  by  so  economical  a means  as 
merely  making  every  structure  a support  to  every 


Comprehensive  planning.  275 

other,  and  the  tract  in  which  they  stand  a favourable 
staging. 

The  movement’s  first  permanent  conquest  in  the 
United  States  was  probably  in  the  University  of 
California,  but  its  beginnings  as  a factor  in  modern 
civic  art  reached  back  at  least  to  the  Columbian  Ex- 
position at  Chicago.  That  (1893)  was  the  great 
popular  object-lesson  in  the  value  of  extensive  co- 
operation, in  the  placing  of  buildings  and  their 
landscape  development  as  strictly  as  in  their  archi- 
tectural elevation.  The  lesson  was  international  in 
its  effect,  exerting  an  influence  that  has  appeared 
over  and  over  in  many  lands,  but  nowhere  more 
dramatically  than  in  the  case  of  the  University  of 
California.  A rich  woman  who  had  done  much  for 
the  institution  proposed  to  add  to  her  benefactions  a 
mining  building,  in  memory  of  her  husband.  The 
question  of  site  and  style  of  architecture  at  once 
arising,  the  lack  of  a definite  scheme  of  development 
that  should  be  a guide  and  assistance  in  such  mat- 
ters was  realised.  The  woman  who  had  proposed 
to  give  a building  made  a much  nobler  gift  as  a first 
step  to  the  former,  for  she  authorised  an  international 
competition  for  a fixed  and  beautiful  ideal  toward 
which  the  institution  should  advance  with  every 
step  that  brought  completeness  nearer.  She  paid  all 
the  expenses  of  the  competition,  including  the  prizes 
of  thirty  thousand  dollars.  The  first  jury  met  in 
Antwerp  and  the  last  meeting  was  in  San  Francisco, 
where  (in  1899)  the  award  was  made. 


276 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


This  showed  a plan  of  which  the  full  carrying  out 
will  require  many  millions  of  dollars  and  perhaps, 
even  in  the  western  part  of  the  United  States,  gen- 
erations of  time.  It  set  a goal  to  be  striven  for.  It 
did  not  simply  ameliorate  the  past ; it  projected 
far  into  the  future  a scheme  toward  which  each 
improvement  of  the  present  might  be  a step.  Its 
tendency  was  to  encourage  improvements,  for  it 
guaranteed  the  present  at  the  same  time  that  it 
guaranteed  the  future, — by  giving  an  assurance  that 
every  step  taken  now,  in  accordance  with  the  ulti- 
mate vision,  is  wisely  taken  and  will  not  have  some 
day  to  be  undone.  It  substituted  for  a present-day 
ideal,  toward  which  the  past  was  to  be  advanced  by 
the  bettering  of  old  conditions,  an  ideal  of  the  fu- 
ture, as  far  beyond  the  present  as  is  the  present  be- 
yond the  past. 

There  was  much  to  induce  immediate  apprecia- 
tion of  such  a plan,  and  on  a less  ambitious  scale  its 
widespread  adoption  by  institutions.  In  the  develop- 
ment of  their  restricted  acreage  and  the  harmonious 
placing  therein  of  a few  paths  and  buildings,  the 
problem  would  not  be  complex;  there  would  be  no 
embarrassment  by  private  interests  to  destroy  a hope 
of  achieving  results  promptly  and  with  complete- 
ness; and  the  advantages,  both  in  economy  and 
in  effectiveness,  of  such  comprehensive  designing 
would  appear  at  once  to  men  and  women  of  that 
social  and  mental  equipment  to  be  expected  among 
the  managers  of  educational  and  philanthropical  insti- 


Comprehensive  Planning.  277 

tutions.  So,  among  the  universities,  we  now  find 
in  the  United  States  many  illustrations  of  its  success. 
At  Harvard,  beautiful  memorial  gates  and  a hand- 
some wall  have  shut  in  the  scholastic  “ yard,”  and  a 
landscape  architect  has  planted  the  shrub  borders 
and  chosen  the  sites  for  new  buildings.  At  Yale, 
when  a great  deal  of  new  construction  was  to  mark 
the  bi-centennial,  experts  were  called  upon  to  draw  a 
plan  toward  the  fulfilment  of  which  each  new  build- 
ing would  be  a step.  Columbia,  rising  on  the  heights 
of  upper  New  York,  creates  there,  in  conjunction  with 
her  neighbours,  “ the  Acropolis  ” of  the  city.  Prince- 
ton ; the  University  of  Pennsylvania  ; and  new  Chi- 
cago, with  her  red  roofs  contrasting  with  the  gray 
stone  of  the  Tudor  architecture — these,  and  many  less 
prominent  institutions  that  are  now  undergoing  a 
similarly  complete  artistic  development,  have  lessons 
for  the  towns  or  cities  in  which  they  are.  They  test 
the  project  of  original  comprehensive  planning,  and  in 
their  conspicuous  object-lessons  prove  its  efficiency. 

But  even  before  they  suggest  a course  for  the 
community  to  follow,  they  make  addition,  in  so  far 
as  their  own  considerable  area  is  concerned, — and  a 
strong  addition, — to  the  present  beauty  of  the  town. 
The  tract  which  an  institution  occupies  is  one  of 
those  problems  within  a problem  that  go  to  make  up 
the  great,  enclosing,  urban  problem.  It  is,  in  fact, 
not  only  one  of  them,  but  a type  of  many  of  them. 
If  the  buildings  that  comprise  the  visible  part  of  a 
university  be  harmoniously  grouped  and  artistically 


278 


fIDobern  Civic  art. 


placed  in  relation  to  their  landscape,  and  thereby 
make  a lovely  and  fitting  whole,  why  should  not 
similar  care  be  exercised  in  placing  the  philanthropi- 
cal,  penal,  and  religious  institutions,  and  then  such 
individual  buildings  as  schools,  libraries,  and  churches 
— when  the  latter  stand  alone?  In  the  aggregate, 
these  form  an  important  portion  of  the  town,  well 
deserving  of  separate  thought  in  consideration  of 
how  to  obtain  a greater  urban  beauty,  and  perhaps 
having  all  the  more  influence  because  they  are  widely 
scattered.  The  injunction,  then,  of  civic  art,  as  re- 
gards the  building  and  placing  of  institutions,  is  that 
the  general  urban  plan  should  be  supplemented  by 
a plan  for  each  of  these,  equally  systematic  and  com- 
plete within  its  own  subject,  and  toward  which  the 
institution  may  be  developed  by  harmonious  steps 
just  as  the  city  as  a whole  will  be  developing — the 
faster  because  of  these  plans  — toward  a larger  scheme 
of  ultimate  and  beautiful  completeness. 

The  striking  examples  of  what  the  conscientiously 
aesthetic  development  of  its  institutions  may  mean  to 
the  aspect  of  a city  are  offered,  of  course,  by  Oxford 
and  Cambridge  in  England.  The  universities  domin- 
ate the  towns,  and  because  they  are  so  beautiful  in 
their  many  quadrangles  and  buildings  — as  if  each 
“college”  were  a separate  institution  — the  cities 
are  beautiful.  It  may  be  objected  that  these  univers- 
ities had  no  original  comprehensive  plan  to  work 
by;  but  at  the  pace  at  which  we  build  to-day  we  do 
in  years  what  would  have  then  meant  centuries. 


Gate  to  the  “ Yara  ” at  Harvard. 


Comprehensive  planning. 


279 


We  have  not,  or  do  not  take  in  construction,  that 
leisure  which  is  so  favourable  to  refinement  and 
harmony.  Building  at  slap-dash  speed,  unless  we 
have  a plan  to  guide  us  we  shall  build  awry.  And 
when  Oxford  rose,  it  has  been  said,  “the  point- 
ing of  an  arch  was  like  an  act  of  worship  and  the 
fervour  of  religion  found  expression  in  an  exuberance 
of  fair  handiwork.”  We  have  not  the  patience  now, 
nor  the  same  high  consecration ; but  we  have  ambi- 
tion, great  wealth,  and  the  models  of  the  past  to 
point  the  way.  Oxford  may  not  have  needed  a gen- 
eral plan  of  development;  but  to-day  we  do  need  it, 
and  if  we  have  it  and  it  is  good,  modern  cities  top 
will  find  in  their  institutions  adorning  features. 

The  quadrangle  of  the  English  university  has  been 
adopted,  with  such  local  modifications  as  may  be 
needed,  as  the  elementary  unit  in  the  development 
scheme  of  most  of  those  later  institutions  that  have 
sought  at  the  start  a complete  plan.  The  system  has 
the  advantage  of  affording  variety  at  the  same  time 
that  it  gives  an  appearance  of  unity,  and  it  fairly 
invites  harmony.  It  offers,  too,  a conveniently  close 
grouping  of  associated  structures,  and  gives  an  air  of 
dignity  and  reserve,  even  of  seclusion  and  peace,  that 
is  at  once  desirable  and  fitting.  The  passenger  on 
the  city  street,  gazing  into  the  quadrangle,  beholds 
there  the  repose  of  an  institution  going  quietly,  and 
with  no  friction  or  waste,  about  its  work.  There  is 
that  clothing  with  beauty  of  adaptation  to  purpose 
which  is  the  strong  desire  of  civic  art. 


28o 


flDo&ern  Civic  art. 


The  examples  that  are  offered  thus  by  institutions 
— of  the  successful  and  strikingly  practical  applica- 
tion of  that  poetic  dream  which  had  wrought  the 
brief  glory  of  an  exposition  — cannot  fail  to  be  broadly 
instructive.  The  pertinence  of  the  dream,  it  may  be 
said,  was  not  even  in  the  first  place  only  for  institu- 
tions. It  was  more  obviously,  indeed,  for  the  sub- 
sequent expositions  — all  of  which  it  has  affected. 
Then  its  suggestion  of  permanent  results  was  recog- 
nised most  promptly  and  most  cordially  by  institu- 
tions. Next,  and  with  a long  forward  — though 
entirely  natural  — step,  comes  the  grouping  of  the 
public  buildings  of  town  and  city  and  the  develop- 
ment of  a civic  centre.  After  that,  and  as  a yet  more 
thrilling  and  magnificent  application  of  the  example, 
carne  the  appointment  of  an  expert  commission,  re- 
presentative of  those  fine  arts  that  must  be  combined 
for  the  highest  adornment  of  a city,  to  consider  and 
propose  plans  for  the  improvement  of  the  city  of 
Washington.1  At  last  there  grows  out  of  it  a wide- 
spread demand  for  expert  advice,  by  commissions  or 
by  individuals  of  professional  training,  regarding  the 
artistic  development  of  tracts  and  towns  — from  the 
great  city  of  New  York,  with  its  multitude  of  pro- 
blems, down  to  the  village,  or  a portion  of  a village  ! 

1 In  this  commission,  architecture  was  represented  by  Daniel  H.  Burnham  and 
Charles  F.  McKim;  landscape  architecture,  by  Frederick  Law  Olmsted,  Jr.;  and 
sculpture  by  Augustus  St.  Gaudens.  Mr.  Burnham,  it  should  be  added,  was 
Director  of  Works  at  the  Columbian  Exposition  in  Chicago,  and  the  effective 
co-operation  of  the  architects  and  artists  who  then  and  there  gave  to  American 
art  both  a new  direction  and  a tremendous  impetus  had  been  largely  secured  and 
maintained  by  his  executive  ability. 


Comprehensive  planning.  281 

So  the  interdependence  of  all  the  arts  that  go  to 
make  up  civic  art  is  realised  as  it  has  not  been  before. 
There  is  seen  the  possibility  of  their  mutual  helpful- 
ness in  creating  a comprehensive  scheme  that  shall 
be  harmonious  throughout,  and  the  necessity  of  ob- 
taining such  a plan  in  advance  and  from  those  upon 
whose  judgment  there  may  be  complete  reliance. 
It  is  realised,  as  possibly  the  highest  and  final  step 
of  civic  art,  that  the  town  or  city,  or  tract  in  town 
or  city,  of  which  it  is  lioped  to  make  a beautiful 
composition  cannot  be  left  to  chance  growth;  that 
corrections  subsequently  made  are  as  much  less  satis- 
factory as  they  are  more  costly  than  would  be  faith- 
ful adherence  to  a good  original  plan. 

It  costs  little  to  get  a good  design  or  map,  and 
acceptance  of  it  involves  no  special  outlay.  It  simply 
gives  assurance  that  all  the  money  that  would 
normally  be  spent  each  year  for  improvements  will 
now  be  spent  with  far-sighted  wisdom.  It  promises 
that  each  public  work  will  mean  certain  progress  to- 
ward a final  splendid  goal, — which  will  have  become, 
not  a vague  dream,  but  a concrete  vision,  a pictured 
reality  that  all  may  see  and  comprehend  and  wish 
and  work  for. 

In  the  composition  of  such  an  expert  commission 
it  would  be  well  — since  city-building  is  a science  as 
well  as  an  art — to  add  to  the  representatives  of  the 
fine  arts  an  engineer,  and  one  member  who  would 
stand  not  for  engineering  alone,  nor  for  architecture 
alone,  nor  for  landscape  design  alone,  nor  for  sculpture 


282 


flDobern  Civic  Hrt, 


alone,  but  for  all  of  these  together  and  compre- 
hensively, as  one  who  has  made  a special  study  of 
the  general  science  and  art  of  city-building.  And  so 
there  would  be  created  an  expert  commission  of  five, 
to  put  before  the  community  a vision  of  what  its 
own  town  might  be  and  should  be. 

The  thought  is  a great  one;  the  programme  is  so 
loftily  conceived,  so  broadly  and  unselfishly  worked 
out,  and  looks  for  its  results  so  completely  to  the 
future,  that  it  is  surprising  to  find  so  wide  and  prompt 
an  acceptance  of  it.  But  the  programme  means  much 
for  civic  art,  giving  to  it  at  once  a firm  basis,  and 
raising  it  in  promise  above  the  need  of  makeshift  im- 
provements,— its  ideal,  beyond  the  danger  of  destruc- 
tion by  the  death  of  any  individual;  its  achievements, 
beyond  the  menace  of  a disorganised  confusion, — 
to  a plane  of  system,  reason,  permanency,  and  calm 
artistic  judgment. 

In  devising  such  a comprehensive  plan  for  a city’s 
development,  it  might  be  well  to  designate  the  style 
of  architecture  that  shall  be  employed  in  the  strictly 
public  buildings.  One  hesitates  to  speak  of  this,  for 
the  occasions  when  it  will  prove  of  thorough  practi- 
calness must  be  so  rare  that  the  suggestion  is  liable 
to  have  a visionary  sound.  It  has  been  suggested, 
however,  that  in  Washington  the  government  build- 
ings be  “monumental  and  serious  in  type,  and  pre- 
ferably of  the  so-called  Classic  style,”  with  the 
understanding  that  the  number  of  stories  in  a monu- 
mental building  should  never  be  more  than  four  and 


Comprehensive  planning. 


283 


should  be  limited  to  three  if  possible.1  An  advantage 
in  such  designation  would  lie  in  the  assurance  of 
harmony  among  the  official  buildings  of  the  town, 
and  in  the  tendency  to  restrain  eccentricity  and  a 
violation  of  purity  of  design  in  that  construction 
which  is  fraught  with  most  danger  to  the  com- 
munity’s aesthetic  charm.  Private  dwellings  exem- 
plify, indeed,  all  sorts  of  queer  tastes,  but  they  are 
not  as  conspicuous,  nor,  considered  so  justly  repre- 
sentative, as  are  the  public  buildings. 

In  the  construction  of  the  latter,  also, — for  their 
various  purposes, — it  is  not  unlikely  that  the  demo- 
cracy of  the  twentieth  century  will  find  its  chief  archfe 
tectural  expression.  This  will  naturally  tend  at  first, 
as  it  already  has,  to  a bourgeois  type.  But  the 
beautiful  Gothic  constructions  of  the  citizens  of 
Flanders,  when  they  too  came  to  raise  town  halls  in 
free  cities,  show  that  the  highest  art  need  not  be 
despaired  of.  This  example  suggests,  too,  that  it 
would  not  be  wise  to  limit  the  choice  of  architecture 
to  a style  that  is  alien  in  period  and  clime.  To  do  so 
might  be  relatively  “safe,”  but  the  safety  would  be 
that  of  a timidity  that  took  no  chances  of  great  suc- 
cess. The  lesson,  rather,  to  be  taught,  is  the  old, 
earnest  one  of  fitness. 

It  has  been  estimated  that  during  a few  particu- 
lar but  recent  months  in  the  United  States,  the  gifts 
for  public  libraries  exceeded  twelve  and  a quarter 

1 “ Grouping  of  Public  Buildings  and  Development  of  Washington,”  by  Cass 
Gilbert,  F.  A.  I.  A.,  in  “ Papers  Relating  to  the  Improvement  of  the  City  of  Wash- 
ington,” Senate  Document  No.  94,  Fifty-sixth  Congress,  second  session. 


284 


ffcobern  Civic  art. 


millions  of  dollars.  During  the  same  period  there 
were  great  sums  given,  and  officially  appropriated, 
for  the  construction  of  hospitals,  art  museums,  town 
halls,  and  school-houses.  All  of  these  structures,  be- 
cause they  were  designed  to  serve  the  public,  had  a 
purpose  that,  since  the  fall  of  Rome,  has  become  al- 
most new  in  architecture.  They  contained,  in  the 
aggregate,  not  only  great  possibilities  for  improving 
the  aspect  of  cities,  but  they  offered  to  architects  a 
superb  opportunity  for  doing  really  original  creative 
work,  in  adapting  the  buildings  to  this  new  purpose 
and  so  giving  to  them  the  beauty  of  fitness  of  expres- 
sion. Libraries,  for  instance,  should  now  stand  not 
for  “elegant  storehouses  of  books”  on  the  old 
traditional  lines,  but  for  working  institutions  or  for 
home-like  reading-rooms,  as  the  need  may  be. 

There  is  to-day,  then,  an  opportunity  that  is 
immense,  both  from  the  architectural  and  civic  stand- 
point, in  the  construction  of  public  buildings  and 
institutions,  but  where  the  comprehensive  plan  for  the 
city  touches  their  architecture  with  dictation  it  should 
touch  very  lightly.  It  might  find,  from  the  examples 
already  existing  in  any  given  place,  expediency  in 
recommending  adherence  to  a general  fixed  style, 
if  that  be  not  too  alien;  but  it  would  grant  all  the 
freedom  possible  within  those  limits,  once  there  had 
been  insistence  on  sincerity  and  chastity  — on  a calm 
and  careful  draughting  that  makes  no  straining  for 
bizarre  effect. 

Among  the  school-houses  in  particular,  scattered 


Comprehensive  planning. 


285 


through  all  parts  of  the  city  in  visible  expression  of 
the  dominating  system  of  public  instruction,  and 
serving  the  like  purpose  in  the  like  way,  there  would 
better  be  uniformity  than  attempt  at  variety  of  aspect. 
Each  school  should  have  a playground,  and  each 
should  have  a garden,  as  they  now  so  generally  have 
in  Northern  Europe  and  are  rapidly  coming  to  have 
in  the  United  States.  Nor  does  modern  civic  art 
have  need  of  apology  for  including  in  its  scrutiny 
details  that  are  as  educational  and  sociological  as 
these.  It  observes  that  by  the  school  garden  will  be 
most  widely  disseminated  that  popular  love  of  nature 
and  practical  experience  in  her  ways  that  can  do  so 
much  to  vest  with  beauty  the  streets  and  homes  of  a 
city.  In  themselves,  also,  these  school  gardens, 
many  times  repeated  and  each  with  its  structure 
forming  a complete  and  harmonious  composition, 
may  be  important  factors  in  adding  to  the  pleasant- 
ness of  the  town.  Throughout  it  all  no  private 
houses  and  no  other  such  numerous  public  structures 
can  more  appropriately  be  models,  both  in  their  own 
development  and  in  their  adjustment  to  the  street. 
They  should  be  little  centres  of  wholesome  influence 
regarding  civic  duty. 

So,  to  sum  up  the  chapter,  three  conclusions  ap- 
pear in  considering  a comprehensive  general  planning 
of  the  city.  They  are,  as  most  important:  the  great 
need  — the  need  too  little  realised  — of  obtaining  one 
underlying  plan,  which  may  touch  lightly  on  the 
public  architecture,  but  which  shall  weld  together  in  a 


286 


flDo&ern  Civic  art. 


harmonious  system  the  street  plotting  of  the  different 
districts,  shall  mark  the  course  of  present  and  future 
improvements  with  entire  assurance,  and  shall  put 
before  the  people  a tangible  goal  to  work  toward  — 
the  picture  of  what  their  own  city  may  be,  and  should 
be,  made;  as  of  next  importance,  the  advantage  of 
comprehensive  plans  for  the  future  development  of 
all  the  public  or  semi-public  institutions,  that  these 
problems  within  a problem  may  have  no  haphazard 
growth  but  may  go  forward  by  sure  steps  to  that 
ideal  of  fitness  and  of  dignity  that  will  make  them 
ornaments  of  the  city;  and,  finally,  the  propriety  of 
giving  a degree  of  recognisable  uniformity  to  those 
structures  of  the  town  that  have  a like  public  char- 
acter and  perform  a like  public  function  and  are  built 
from  the  public  means — the  advantage,  in  short,  of 
considering  any  public  structure  not  by  itself,  when 
adopting  its  plan,  but  in  its  relation  to  the  community 
as  a whole  and  to  the  other  structures  of  its  type. 
That  is  the  secret  at  the  root  not  only  of  comprehen- 
sive planning,  but  of  civic  art. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

OPEN  SPACES. 

THE  open  spaces  of  a city  are,  or  should  be,  its 
ornaments.  This  is  a new  rule  in  city-build- 
ing, a requirement  that  was  not  made  in  the 
old  days  of  civic  art  when  the  creation  of  an  open 
space  meant  the  establishment  of  an  outdoor  market. 
In  those  times,  when  the  sun  got  high  and  the  little 
booths,  their  morning’s  work  done,  were  folded 
away  silently  as  the  white  umbrellas  that  had  pro- 
bably covered  them,  the  square  became  a bare  and 
lonely  place  unless  — as  was  likely  to  be  the  case  — 
a fountain  bubbled  garrulously  in  its  centre.  Then 
the  fresh  running  water  established  a social  rendez- 
vous, and  about  it  there  was  gossip  enough  to  ex- 
plain the  laughter  and  muttering  of  the  fountain  long 
after  the  town  had  gone  to  sleep.  On  rainy  days  a 
new  value  appeared  in  the  open  space,  for  people 
scurried  across  it  like  leaves  before  the  wind. 
Usually  they  hugged  the  sides  of  the  square,  where 
there  were  arcades  or  awnings  to  keep  off  the  sun, 
shop  windows  to  look  into,  and  plenty  of  friends  to 

2S7 


288 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


talk  to;  but  when  the  rain  came  and  there  was 
reason  to  hurry,  the  square  offered  short  cuts  that 
were  eagerly  availed  of. 

There  were  some  who  thought  that  the  open 
spaces  of  a city  ceased  to  be  a necessity  when  the 
markets  were  driven  indoors  or  to  especially  desig- 
nated areas,  when  fresh  water  was  carried  into  every 
house  by  underground  pipes,  and  the  square  seemed 
to  have  no  value  save  that  of  occasionally  offering  a 
means  to  shorten  one’s  journey,  if  one  were  in  a 
hurry.  It  did  look  forlorn  and  dreary.  Then  there 
were  planned  new  cities  and  parts  of  cities  without 
open  spaces. 

But  vast  areas  of  regularly  plotted  streets  became 
dreadfully  monotonous.  It  was  seen  that  even  a 
deserted  square  served  many  a useful  purpose:  it 
brought  variety  into  urban  topography;  it  trans- 
formed building  lots  on  the  boundary  streets  into 
valuable  sites,  for  now  they  had  an  assurance  of 
light,  the  conspicuousness  that  belongs  to  a vantage 
point,  and  they  offered  a chance  for  perspective  to 
aid  appreciation  of  good  fafades.  And  the  square 
afforded  an  excellent  location  for  civic  sculpture.  It 
shortened  distances,  too,  and  when  the  citizens 
wanted  to  gather  out-of-doors  it  made  a place  for 
them  to  come  to.  Then  arose  the  wish  to  beautify 
cities,  to  bring  stateliness  into  the  business  district 
and  the  soft  touch  of  nature  into  the  regions  where 
the  homes  were.  The  opportunities  of  the  square 
for  this  were  perceived  and  seized. 


Place  de  la  Republique,  Paris. 


©pen  Spaces. 


289 


Noble  buildings  were  gathered  around  it  where 
they  could  be  seen.  Sculpture  adorned  it.  Brilliant 
lights  made  it  gay  at  night,  and  if  the  fountain  had 
lost  the  power  to  establish  a social  rendezvous,  a 
band  might  play  here  on  a summer  evening  and  it 
would  collect  a crowd.  Pageantry  found  here  its 
opportunity;  turf  was  sometimes  planted  in  the 
spaces  between  diagonal  paths, — that  had  been  left, 
in  order  that  the  square  might  still  be  useful  in  the 
shortening  of  distance, — and  when  the  space  was 
ample  there  were  flowers  and  seats  and  trees  and 
bushes.  The  square  entered  again  into  the  life  of 
the  people  and  they  loved  to  gather  in  it.  But  it 
did  something  else,  for  now  it  added  to  the  visi- 
ble attractiveness  of  the  town.  Here  a bit  of  public 
garden,  there  a sculptured  vestibule  to  architectural 
masses,  there  again  a playground  (for  adults  or  child- 
ren), and  here  a broadened  thoroughfare  crowded 
with  the  criss-cross  travel  that  must  have  congested 
a street, — the  open  space  served  many  ends  of  which 
the  sum  was  this:  the  better  adaptation  of  a city  to 
its  countless  purposes.  Then  it  became  a problem 
for  civic  art. 

In  the  mere  running  over  of  its  various  develop- 
ments, many  types  of  open  space  appear.  There 
are  those  in  the  crowded  business  district,  most  fre- 
quently before  a public  building,  which  are  arranged 
to  set  off  the  abutting  architecture,  making  with 
sculpture  and  brilliant  lights  a dignified  approach 
to  it  and  for  the  city  a stately  ornament.  There  are 


290 


ADofcern  Civic  Hrt. 


those  most  naturally  before  a focal  point  — such  as 
one  of  the  entrances  to  the  town  — of  which  the 
special  purpose  is  provision  for  converging  traffic. 
There  are  those  in  the  tenement  district,  serving 
various  ends;  and  there  are  those,  finally,  in  the 
general  residential  quarters,  established  deliberately 
to  be  areas  of  beauty  or  children’s  playgrounds,  or 
spaces  which,  though  formed  by  the  seeming  accid- 
ent of  an  irregular  angle  where  streets  converge, 
have  been  turned  to  good  account  aesthetically. 

One  would  think  that  so  useful  a feature  of  the 
urban  structure  must  have  been  made  long  since  a 
part  of  the  science  of  city-building,  with  the  distrib- 
ution of  the  spaces  and  the  principles  underlying 
their  development  reduced  to  general  rules.  But  so 
distinctly  is  recognition  of  their  value  an  achieve- 
ment of  modern  civic  art  that,  be  it  observed,  they 
have  not  as  yet  even  a generic  name,  unless  it  be 
that  cumbrous  and  indefinite  title,  “open  space” — 
which  might  be  street,  or  river,  or  back  yard,  quite 
as  well  as  the  thing  that  is  meant.  We  take  them, 
too,  as  we  find  them,  usually  three-fourths  of  them 
not  purposely  created  but  found  existent  through 
fortunate  miscalculations  or  irregularities  in  urban 
topography.  And  then  they  are  developed  as  the 
whim  of  the  moment  dictates  — perhaps  to  be 
changed  after  a decade  in  cases  of  some  success, 
perhaps  to  make  us  wish  other  treatment  before  the 
work  is  done.  For  we  fill  in  our  open  space  as  if  it 
were  a blank  area  on  a wall  that  we  were  attempt- 


©pen  Spaces. 


291 


ing  to  “decorate”  or  “treat”  without  a thought  of 
the  wall  around  it,  without  regard  for  its  possible 
harmony,  for  its  purpose,  for  its  connection  with  the 
building.  If  that  were  actually  done,  there  would 
be  danger  of  clapping  a poster  where  there  ought  to 
be  a mural  painting,  of  painting  delicately  where  a 
passage  is  to  be,  or  of  leaving  bare  a space  in  the 
middle  of  a thickly  figured  wall.  The  like  of  all 
these  things  is  done  in  the  treatment  of  the  open 
spaces  of  cities.  They  are  sprinkled  over  the  street 
plan  without  system  or  due  proportion ; and  they  are 
developed,  each  by  itself,  with  little  thought  of 
relation  to  the  boundary  streets  and  none  perhapsi 
of  their  relation  to  the  city  as  a whole. 

If  the  problem  were  the  original  plotting  of  a 
city,  the  position  of  the  open  spaces  would  clearly 
demand  an  attention  coincident  with  that  given  to 
the  street  plan.  Neither  the  one  nor  the  other  could 
be  arranged  with  entire  satisfaction  by  itself.  It  is 
essential  for  the  best  results  that  in  the  location  of 
each  such  open  area  there  be  a certain  obvious  ap- 
propriateness and  naturalness  — that  is,  since  their 
boundaries  are  streets,  they  should  seem,  whether 
circles,  triangles,  or  squares,  to  grow  out  of  the 
street  lines,  rather  than  appear  to  be  placed  upon 
them.  In  the  distribution,  also,  there  should  be 
comprehensive  planning  that  their  many  purposes 
may  be  fully  served,  and  that  each  section,  in  pro- 
portion to  its  needs,  may  be  equally  provided.  But 
because  appreciation  of  open  spaces  at  their  full 


292 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


value  is  a late  chapter  in  urban  science, — though 
Penn  placed  them  generously  on  his  gridiron  plan 
for  Philadelphia,  and  Sir  Christopher  Wren  made 
the  provision  of  geometrical  open  areas  a feature  of 
his  plan  for  the  remodelling  of  London, — there  is 
very  little  such  advantageous  planning  at  the  start. 
We  have  to  make  the  best  we  can  of  the  spaces 
that  happen  to  exist  upon  the  plan ; and  when, 
at  great  expense,  we  put  in  new  ones,  we  have  to 
choose  the  neighbourhoods  that  need  them  most 
and  locate  them  at  the  nearest  practicable  point  to 
that  situation  which  would  be  ideal.  In  the  placing 
of  modern  urban  squares,  therefore,  there  is  much 
of  makeshift,  though  in  their  treatment  a freer  rein  is 
given.1 

Of  the  development  of  those  squares  that  are  in 
the  tenement  district,  there  has  already  been  a dis- 
cussion. To  those  (mainly  in  the  business  district) 
adorned  with  sculpture  and  ornate  fountains  and 
made  gay  with  brilliant  lighting,  there  has  been  a 
reference  in  the  chapter  on  city  adornment  with 
fountains  and  sculpture.  It  was  there  pointed  out 
that  the  opportunity  offered  by  such  spaces  for  the 

1 In  many  cities  — most  strikingly  in  London  — where  land  values  have  become 
so  high  as  almost  to  discourage  municipal  purchases  for  the  creation  of  open  spaces, 
and  where  the  crowding  is  so  severe  that  there  is  excuse  for  fear  that  an  arbitrary 
reduction  of  the  habitable  area  in  a given  section  may  increase  rather  than  diminish 
suffering,  but  where,  on  the  other  hand,  that  very  crowding  and  the  pushing  of 
the  urban  boundaries  into  a distance  that  the  poor  cannot  traverse  make  pitiful 
appeal  for  public  open  areas,  there  has  been  a utilisation  of  ancient  graveyards. 
They  are  transformed,  with  excellent  sanitary  effect,  to  serve  as  breathing  places, 
garden  spots,  and  playgrounds.  But  their  location  as  regards  the  street  plan  is 
obviously  without  system. 


©pen  Spacea. 


293 


increase  of  urban  amenity  consisted  not  in  surprising 
with  a sudden  splendour,  that  had  been  hidden  un- 
til unexpectedly  come  upon,  but  in  casting  their 
radiance  as  far  as  possible  on  adjacent  streets.  In 
the  treatment  of  such  a space,  then,  there  is  to 
be  regard  not  merely  for  the  space  itself,  but  for  the 
effect  as  seen  from  the  streets  that  lead  to  it.  This 
consideration  may  even  determine  the  scale  to  be 
adopted  in  the  monumental  construction  that  perhaps 
dominates  the  area. 

But  in  planning  these,  as  all,  open  spaces,  the  re- 
quirements imposed  by  the  vistas  from  the  streets 
that  approach  them  are  little  more  than  hints  — very 
helpful  in  particulars,  but  leaving  much  of  detail 
and  even  of  general  plan  for  local  decision.  Three 
things,  with  respect  to  this,  are  to  be  considered: 
the  accommodation  and  convenience  of  the  travel, 
civic  art  having  its  base  in  civic  utility,  for  this  may 
determine  even  the  location  of  the  sculpture  and  the 
amount  of  ground  it  occupies;  the  character  of  the 
surrounding  neighbourhood,  which  will  determine 
the  whole  nature  of  the  treatment  of  the  space,  that 
monotony  may  be  relieved  and  charm  increased  by 
the  break;  and  finally  what  is  required  for  the  har- 
monious setting  of  such  of  the  abutting  architecture 
as  may  be  deemed  fairly  permanent. 

Such  architecture  quite  probably  includes  some 
public  or  semi-public  building,  for  in  the  Old  World 
at  least  the  open  space  is  likely  to  have  been  first 
a market’s  site,  and  the  latter  would  have  been 


294  flDobern  Civic  art. 

selected  with  reference  to  the  strong  and  permanent 
popular  attraction  offered  by  a structure  of  Church  or 
State.  In  the  setting  of  the  architecture  something 
more  than  harmony  may  be  sought.  Often  the  area 
will  give  an  opportunity  for  terracing  or  for  balus- 
trades, that  will  make  an  imposing  approach  with- 
out trespassing  too  severely  on  precious  space. 
While  this  is  a result  that  especially  affects  the  build- 
ing, it  should  be  recalled  that  in  the  embellishment 
of  cities  architecture  and  its  setting  are  factors  upon 
which  much  dependence  must  be  put. 

Nor  should  the  enhancement  by  the  square  of 
surrounding  architectural  effects  be  allowed  to  cease 
with  approaching  darkness.  It  is  a boast  of  modern 
cities  that  in  their  business  sections  they  have  no 
night.  We  have  seen  that  a community’s  first 
efforts  toward  decorative  and  brilliant  lighting  are 
almost  sure  to  be  at  such  show  points  as  its  open 
spaces,  and  that  these  at  evening,  even  more  than  in 
the  day,  may  be  centres  of  light  and  gaiety.  The 
" ville  lumiere  ” offers  proof  enough  of  that.  But 
there  is  still  something  more  to  be  accomplished,  for 
the  square  would  lose  much  of  its  glory  if  night’s 
dark  mantle  were  suffered  to  hide  the  beautiful  pub- 
lic buildings  that  front  upon  it,  they  being  as  much 
a part  of  it  as  the  statue  in  its  centre.  Should 
no  architectural  provision  be  made  for  decorative 
lamps  as  parts  of  the  structures,  surely  hidden  lights 
might  throw  upon  the  facades  a glow  sufficient  to 
bring  out  mouldings,  carvings,  and  proportions,  and 


©pen  Spaces. 


295 


so  secure  to  the  square  at  night  its  architectural 
setting  of  the  day.  Where  it  is  surrounded  by  priv- 
ate houses,  with  which  such  liberty  may  not  betaken, 
the  open  space  is  more  likely  to  be  planted;  and  then 
what  witchery  may  be  given  by  a wise  arrangement 
of  the  lights! 

Now  if  the  application  of  these  principles  to  a 
few  famous  “ squares  ” be  considered,  their  signific- 
ance is  more  easily  perceived.1  Trafalgar  Square  in 
London,  which  was  described  by  Peel  as  “the  finest 
site  in  Europe,”  is  one  of  the  most  travelled  squares 
in  the  world.  Yet  there  are  two  huge  fountains  and 
something  like  half  a dozen  statues  besides  the  great 
Nelson  column.  But  the  fountains  stand  back  from 
the  maelstrom  of  converging  traffic,  and  against  the 
terrace,  so  that  they  take  no  space  that  is  needed  for 
travel;  the  Nelson  shaft,  which  occupies  the  centre 
of  the  square,  is  tall  enough  to  dominate  the  whole 
busy  scene  and  be  visible  as  a landmark  from  afar, 
and  yet  its  base  is  not  so  large  as  to  trespass  — the 
natural  convergence  of  traffic  being  before,  not 
around,  it.  Finally,  the  smaller  statues  are  placed 
so  as  to  be  decorative  adjuncts  — in  purpose,  at 
least  — which  are  constructively  incidental  as  far  as 
the  topography  goes.  Here,  then,  is  a great  space 
singularly  well  utilised.  It  may  be  considered  as 
having  three  divisions:  the  first,  a vestibule  crowded 
with  criss-cross  traffic  and  therefore  left  clear ; the 
second,  a richly  ornamented  setting  for  the  enthroned 

1 See  articles  by  the  author  in  Nos.  5,  6,  7,  vol.  ii.  of  House  and  Garden. 


296 


flDo&ern  Civic  art. 


architecture;  the  third,  the  terrace  upon  the  top  of 
which  the  public  building  stands.  There  is  illustra- 
tion here  of  how  important  an  accessory  to  its  archi- 
tecture a square  may  be  made  without  loss  of  its 
own  independence.  And  in  the  midst  of  a vast  city, 
walled  by  great  buildings  that  are  pierced  only  by 
busy  streets,  the  roar  of  traffic  pulsing  over  its  every 
inch,  there  is  no  attempt  in  Trafalgar  Square  at  in- 
congruous “ naturalness.”  The  whole  treatment  is 
richly  urban,  frankly  artificial,  and  yet  unique  in 
its  superb  decorativeness.  The  very  fountains  are 
sculptured,  their  basins  enclosed  in  geometrical  cop- 
ings. Their  streams  are  thrown  high  into  the  air 
with  a music  that  is  very  grateful,  and  on  their  broad 
calm  bosom  many  little  Britons  sail  craft  that  are 
make-believe  frigates,  beneath  the  shadow  of  the 
Nelson  monument  1 

The  Piazza  San  Marco  in  Venice  is  almost  bare, 
only  the  Campanile  and  the  ornate  flagstaffs  before 
the  cathedral  having  trespassed  upon  it.  In  its  way 
it  exemplifies  that  neglect  of  vegetation  which  is 
the  typical  original  sin  in  the  cities  of  garden-like 
Italy.  But  in  the  Piazza  San  Marco  the  sin  is  par- 
donable. Space  is  too  precious,  there  is  too  little 
room  for  careless  walking  to  have  justified  the  trans- 
formation of  this  one  broad  square  into  a garden- 
court.  It  is  the  chief  focus  of  the  city,  and  “keep 
off  the  grass  ” signs  would  here  have  robbed  the 
people,  water  would  have  mocked  them,  while  the 
merely  decorative  pavement  sets  off  the  architecture 


Trafalgar  Squalfe,  London. 


©pen  Spaces. 


297 


and  is  stranger  in  its  breadth,  in  Venice,  than  a 
garden  would  have  been. 

In  the  handsome  Piazza  del  Popolo  in  Rome  there 
is  one  of  the  most  interesting  examples  of  the  square 
deliberately  planned  for  city  embellishment.  The 
whole  view  from  the  top  of  the  Pincian  Hill,  which 
overlooks  the  piazza,  the  bridge  beyond,  and  the 
background  of  modern  buildings,  is  a lesson  in  the 
science  of  modern  civic  construction.  The  piazza  is 
old,  and  the  obelisk  that  stands  in  its  centre  has  been 
there  for  more  than  three  hundred  years,  but  the 
treatment  of  the  space  is  essentially  modern,  forming 
the  fitting  vestibule  to  new  Rome.  Into  the  square 
comes  the  broadened  Corso;  from  it  diverge  great 
radial  thoroughfares.  With  the  ancient  “ Hill  of 
Gardens  ” rising  on  one  side,  and  tall  trees  leaving  on 
the  other  only  the  vista  of  the  bridge,  there  is  verd- 
ure enough  in  the  surroundings  to  justify  a purely 
formal  and  architectural  arrangement.  This  includes 
a geometrical  placing  of  single  lamp-posts  and  can- 
delabra, and  curved  bounding  walls  adorned  with 
sculpture.  The  whole  space  is  something  larger, 
perhaps,  than  is  needed  to-day;  but  the  fast  growth 
of  that  section  of  the  city  across  the  Tiber,  of  whose 
traffic  this  piazza  is  the  natural  distributing  point, 
makes  its  size  appear  a wise  provision  for  the  future. 
The  lesson  of  the  square  is  not  so  much  in  its  hint 
for  other  communities — the  situation  being  peculiar— 
as  in  its  illustration  of  how  perfectly,  with  what  results 
in  nobility  of  aspect,  in  harmony  to  surroundings, 


298 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


and  in  convenience  to  the  neighbourhood,  an  open 
space  may  be  treated  if  oniy  the  problem  be  given 
sufficient  thought.  Potentially,  its  spaces  are  the 
city’s  jewels. 

There  is  a strong  temptation  to  continue  the  dis- 
cussion, by  examining  many  squares  in  many  cities. 
There  is  the  fine  Place  de  la  Concorde  in  Paris,  for 
example,  of  which  there  has  been  purposely  no  men- 
tion, because,  even  as  Trafalgar  Square,  it  is  far  more 
a state  than  a municipal  creation,  and  because  its 
position  with  relation  to  its  surroundings  is  so  excep- 
tionally favourable  as  to  render  it  fairly  discouraging 
as  a model.  And  then  in  New  York  there  is  Union 
Square,  which,  with  some  good  features, — as  its  use 
of  vegetation  in  Manhattan  Island’s  dreariness  of 
stone  and  iron, — is  on  the  whole  an  example  not 
merely  of  ineffective  but  of  positively  wrong  planning. 
Putting  aside  such  sins  against  civic  art  as  the  in- 
congruous “ cottage,”  there  is  not  even  adaptation  to 
civic  utility,  for  the  paths  wind  circuitously,  to  the 
destruction  of  the  square’s  value  for  short  cuts,  and 
the  portion  that  is  paved  as  a plaza  is  the  wrong 
portion.  It  has  the  bareness  of  an  island  where 
streams  have  parted,  while  at  the  other  end  of  the 
square  their  confluence  in  relatively  narrow  quarters 
creates  serious  congestion.  But  enough  has  been 
said  to  show  that  the  open  space  to  which  an  archi- 
tectural treatment  has  been  allotted  is  a problem  full 
of  complexity  and  one  requiring  strictly  individual 
decision.  When  it  is  ably  solved  it  has  a magni- 


©pen  Spaces.  299 

ficent  power  for  the  embellishment  of  the  city  and 
for  the  increase  of  urban  stateliness. 

Among  the  open  areas  in  the  business  district  of 
the  city,  there  are  some  of  which  the  primary  pur- 
pose must  be  the  facilitation  of  congested  travel,  or 
at  all  events  the  added  convenience  of  travel.  Such 
are  those  spaces  likely  to  be  provided  at  the  formal 
entrances  to  the  city.  But  of  these  there  has  been 
discussion.1 

Passing,  then,  from  the  crowded  business  district, 
where  the  demands  of  traffic  are  insistent,  we  come 
to  the  residential  sections  of  the  town.  Here,  except 
as  rarely  when  the  area  is  set  apart  for  a playground, 
the  first  duty  of  the  open  space  is  to  increase  the 
attractiveness  of  its  neighbourhood.  Here,  then,  we 
shall  welcome  trees;  here  there  may  be  flowers  and 
grass;  here  there  may  be  invitation  to  idleness  and 
loitering;  and  here,  among  the  homes  and  gardens 
of  the  citizens,  there  may  be  the  public  garden,  pro- 
vided by  the  municipality  for  the  common  pleasure 
of  all. 

In  the  landscape  designing  of  such  a space  it  will 
be  wise  to  adopt  the  formal  style.  The  space  will 
almost  certainly  be  geometrical  in  outline;  it  will  be 
crossed  by  paths  that  serve  to  some  extent  as  high- 
ways; and  if  it  be  not  large  enough  properly  to  be 
called  a park,  it  is  too  small  to  shut  out  the  city. 
Even  if  no  architectural  or  monumental  construction 
gives  the  keynote  to  the  square’s  arrangement,  the 

1 See  pages  6t>  to  75. 


300 


ftOoberro  Civic  art. 


city’s  buildings  will  peer  over  all  its  boundaries  and 
the  noise  of  traffic  will  be  heard  in  its  quietest 
corners.  To  attempt,  then,  to  imitate  the  country 
here,  with  naturalness  of  effect,  were  absurd.  It  is 
best  to  accept  frankly  the  urban  conditions  and  to 
make  the  square  a decorative  adjunct  of  the  street, 
since  here  we  have  opportunity  to  bring  to  the  aid  of 
the  street  such  powerful  factors  for  city  beauty  as 
flowers  and  trees  and  running  water.  These  must, 
however,  be  used  with  due  respect  for  the  architect- 
ure, for  we  must  take  care  neither  to  conceal  that 
nor  to  violate  good  taste  by  lack  of  harmony  in  the 
setting  provided.  We  have  to  remember  that  the 
beauty  of  the  space  itself  is  not  the  goal  we  seek, 
but  rather  the  addition,  by  its  support,  of  the  beauty 
of  the  city. 

To  gain  this  end,  not  the  spaces  alone  but  the 
spaces  and  their  surroundings  are  to  be  considered  as 
the  pictures,  and  are  to  be  developed  — however 
ornately  or  simply  — with  consistency  and  complete- 
ness. That  is  to  say,  it  will  not  suffice  if — as  to-day 
in  Copley  Square  in  Boston  — the  architecture  be 
safeguarded  by  legislation  that  prohibits  the  erection 
of  dwarfing  “ sky-scrapers,”  and  a protecting  coping 
be  put  around  the  precious  space  devoted  to  flowers 
and  turf,  while  hideous  trolley  poles  are  permitted  on 
the  boundary  sidewalks.  There  then  results  only  a 
pathetic  failure.  Nor  will  it  do,  again,  to  suffer  an 
ugly  telegraph  pole  to  rise  incongruously  from  a bed 
of  flowers;  nor  to  arrange  the  reserved  space,  upon 


The  Square  and  the  Place  Darcy?JDijon,  France. 


©pen  Spaces. 


301 


which  beautiful  and  dignified  architecture  looks  with 
placidity,  in  beds  of  bright-hued  flowers  laid  out  in 
fantastic  contortions.  Where  this  has  been  done,  in 
a certain  notable  case,  we  have  the  effect  of  a civic 
skirt  dance  between  a lovely  library  and  church,  all 
the  reposefulness  of  an  architectural  base  destroyed. 
Elsewhere,  there  may  be  an  area  beautifully  developed 
in  itself;  but  above  its  charming  surface  treatment 
wires  cross  and  recross,  the  sun  throws  the  shadow 
of  a graceless  lamp-post  athwart  the  turf,  and  beyond 
a border  of  blossoming  shrubs  a trolley  pole  rises  in 
black  barbarity. 

In  the  better  residential  parts  of  London  one  comes 
frequently  upon  a square  surrounded  by  an  iron  fence. 
There  are  great  trees  within,  and  pretty  natural  gar- 
dening; but  on  the  four  sides  there  are  closed  gates 
that  separate  it  hopelessly  from  the  barren  highways. 
Yet  the  garden  makes  an  attractive  outlook  from  the 
surrounding  houses,  that  rent  the  higher  because  of 
it;  and  there  is  illustration  of  the  lines, 

Around  it  is  the  street,  a restless  arm 

That  clasps  the  country  to  the  city’s  heart. 

The  square  owes  its  existence  to  the  landed  proprie- 
tor to  whom  the  region  belongs.  He  has  plotted  it 
and  maintains  it  because  of  the  better  rent  he  gets 
for  his  houses,  and  only  the  occupants  of  these 
houses  have  keys  to  the  gates.  This,  then,  is  not 
civic  art.  It  offers  a convenient  example  of  what  the 
municipally  created  square  ought  not  to  be.  It  is  not 


302 


flDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


a beautiful  bit  of  London,  but  a piece  of  “created 
ornament  ” superimposed. 

The  ideal  for  the  spaces  here,  as  for  those  in  the 
business  district,  would  be  to  make  them  glorified 
parts  of  the  street  — parts  which  have  a special 
adornment  because  the  street  has  suddenly  widened 
sufficiently  to  admit  of  such  adorning.  In  practice, 
however,  it  is  less  easy  where  vegetation  is  used, 
than  where  the  treatment  is  architectural,  to  avoid  a 
line  of  distinction  between  street  and  square,  for 
unless  the  street  have  parking  the  difference  is  de- 
cided. To  conceal  it  by  bringing  the  street  into  so 
complete  a harmony  that  the  two  seem  to  merge, 
should  be  the  endeavour;  when  this  is  not  possible, 
we  should  accept  frankly  the  distinction  and  attempt 
to  create,  within  boundaries  as  little  forbidding  as 
practicable,  a bit  of  formal  gardening  that  is  suited 
perfectly  to  its  surroundings. 

A number  of  the  “circles”  in  Washington  illus- 
trate so  well  the  adornment  of  the  street  that  their 
provision  is  regarded  as  a conspicuous  merit  of  the 
Washington  street  plan.  Nearly  every  one  of  these 
circles  possesses  a central  architectural  motif  in  a bit 
of  sculpture.  This  is  on  the  axes  of  the  streets  that 
meet  at  the  circle,  and  for  long  distances  is  a factor 
in  their  decoration  — the  open  space  not  shutting  the 
sculpture  away  within  itself.  In  Baltimore’s  Wash- 
ington Place,  and  in  the  Wilhelm’s  Platz,  Berlin,— to 
cite  a European  instance, — the  like  excellent  result  is 
shown.  In  these  cases,  too,  it  is  to  be  noted,  the 


©pen  Spaces. 


303 


open  space  gives  an  opportunity  to  furnish  the 
sculpture  with  a background  of  verdure,  without 
concealing  it.  The  Baltimore  square  is  formed  by 
the  street’s  widening  so  that  the  roadway,  dividing, 
encloses  the  reserved  and  formally  ornamented  space. 
The  statue  is  in  the  centre.  A line  of  trees,  planted 
along  each  side  of  the  middle  area,  prolongs  the 
street’s  vista,  which  is  further  preserved  by  the  ab- 
sence of  conspicuous  screens  at  the  ends  of  the 
square.  Another  interesting  detail  is  that,  while  the 
walks  curve  in  apparently  luxurious  indolence,  their 
curves  are  so  adjusted  to  one  another  that  the  hurried 
pedestrian,  leaving  the  street  walk  and  traversing  the 
square,  need  barely  deviate  from  a straight  line  in  so 
doing.  He  can  loiter  if  he  wishes,  but  he  is  not 
obliged  to  do  so. 

When,  for  one  reason  or  another,  it  is  not  practic- 
able thus  to  make  the  open  space  seem  part  of  the 
very  structure  of  the  street,  we  have  to  make  the 
boundaries  as  inconspicuous  as  possible  while  creat- 
ing within  them  a bit  of  formal  gardening.  The  sec- 
tion of  the  town  in  which  the  space  is,  together  with 
the  size  of  the  space,  must  be  largely  determinate  of 
the  exact  treatment  adopted.  Often  bright  flowers, 
that  will  flood  an  otherwise  gloomy  bit  of  city  with 
the  country’s  sunshine,  will  be  advisable,  and  almost 
always  running  water  will  give  pleasure.  The  fount- 
ain is  probably  the  most  satisfactory  device  for  the 
latter;  but  the  playground’s  shallow  pool,  where  child- 
ren may  wade  and  sail  their  boats,  gives  pleasure 


304 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


in  its  way.  The  playground  is  not  an  aesthetic  fac- 
tor, as  a rule,  but  the  pool’s  grateful  contrast  to  hot 
and  dusty  streets  contains  a suggestion  for  orna- 
mental open  spaces.  Indeed,  a round  pond,  flower- 
bordered,  was  adopted  as  the  feature  of  Bowling 
Green,  New  York.  In  this  unexpected  placidity 
rushing  Broadway  terminated.  There  was  enough 
formalism  to  retain  the  urban  character  of  the  spot 
and  enough  tranquillity  to  recall  the  Dutch  origin  of 
the  space.  When  tall  office  buildings  crowd  around 
it  the  contrast  may  become  too  violent,  so  that  even 
history  will  not  excuse  such  incongruity;  but  gener- 
ally in  a quiet  residential  section,  far  from  any  natural 
body  of  water,  this  treatment  should  prove  very 
charming.  It  should  be  said,  too,  of  the  playground, 
that  the  privacy  which  this  ought  to  have,  as  re- 
gards the  street,  may  be  secured  with  screening 
shrubs.  These  by  their  beauty  may  make  it  a strong, 
though  incidental,  aesthetic  factor. 

The  opportunity  of  the  open  space  should  be 
utilised  to  add  to  turf  and  flowers  and  idling  or 
dancing  water  one  other  potent  factor,  none  too 
easy  otherwise  to  obtain  in  the  development  of  city 
beauty.  This  is  true  especially  of  that  larger  area 
which  the  less  crowded  portions  of  the  city  can  usu- 
ally spare  for  purposes  so  good  and  pleasant.  The 
factor  in  mind  is  the  clustering  of  great  trees  — that 
beautiful  effect  which  is  absent  from  even  the  tree- 
lined  thoroughfare.  The  trees  are  not  only  lovely  in 
themselves  and  gratifying  for  the  shade  which  they 


©pen  Spacer 


305 


afford,  but  most  acceptably  do  they  close  the  vista 
of  a street  or  make  a beautiful  screen  to  separate  dis- 
tinct sections  of  a town.  For  the  best  effect,  the 
space  should  be  large  enough  to  include  without 
crowding  a goodly  number.  Boston  Common  is  so 
large  that  a more  encouraging  example  is  found  in 
the  equally  well-known  Madison  Square,  New  York. 
Here,  as  on  the  Common,  the  trees  are  the  principal 
feature,  and  after  that  the  directness  and  con- 
venience of  the  paths  (especially  in  the  Common) 
which  make  the  spaces  really  useful. 

Yet  both  of  these  areas  illustrate,  also,  the  invita- 
tion to  outdoor  living  — to  loitering  in  the  open  air 
and  finding  pleasure  and  the  possibility  of  rest  when 
out-of-doors  — that  the  open  spaces  of  a city  may  so 
well  extend.  By  most  of  its  chute-like  streets  the 
city  summons  us  out-of-doors  only  that  through 
their  means  we  may  pass  from  one  interior  to  an- 
other. We  may  have  poor  rooms  to  sit  in,  with 
foul  air  and  little  sunshine,  but  it  no  business  calls  us 
forth  we  remain  indoors  rather  than  dally  in  the  busy 
street.  The  parks,  with  their  songs  of  birds,  their 
waving  boughs,  their  long,  peaceful  vistas,  are  far 
away;  if  the  city  does  not  furnish  oases  of  beauty 
in  the  desert  of  its  streets,  and  with  numerous  well- 
placed  chairs  or  benches  make  practical  and  urgent 
its  invitation  to  a leisurely  enjoyment  of  the  beauty 
thus  provided,  civic  art  will  waste  its  fragrance  and 
prove  untrue  to  its  social  impulse.  To-day,  this  im- 
pulse must  be  earnestly  reckoned  with.  Modern 
20 


3°  6 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


civic  art  desires  the  beauty  of  towns  and  cities  not 
for  beauty’s  sake,  but  for  the  greater  happiness, 
health,  and  comfort  of  the  citizens.  It  finds  in  the 
open  space  an  opportunity  to  call  them  out-of-doors 
for  other  than  business  purposes,  to  keep  them  in 
fresh  air  and  sunshine,  and  in  their  most  receptive 
mood  to  woo  them  by  sheer  force  of  beauty  to  that 
love  and  that  contentment  on  which  are  founded 
individual  and  civic  virtue. 

It  is  a higher  purpose  than  had  the  square  of 
other  times.  Not  to  gossip  with  one’s  neighbours, 
but  to  commune  with  nature;  to  draw  inspiration, 
instead  of  water,  from  a common  source;  in  the 
midst  of  the  busy  city  to  find  an  isle  of  peace,  where 
the  scent  of  flowers,  that  are  yours  as  much  as  any 
one’s,  is  in  your  nostrils  and  the  music  of  childish 
laughter  is  in  the  air;  where  the  sunshine  has  to 
filter  through  the  trees  to  find  you;  or  where  the 
darkness  and  the  moonlight  weave  a spell  of  mystery 
and  romance,  as  if  prosaic  streets  were  far  away  — 
this  is  the  call  of  the  planted  open  space  in  the  city 
of  to-day,  so  far  as  it  is  right  to  think  of  it  apart  from 
the  street  that  it  adorns. 


v 


Hudson  Park,  New  York.  This  square  illustrates  an  unusual  and  interesting  development,  but  one  lacking  relation  to  the 
streets  it  should  adorn.  The  fencing  of  the  greensward  here  also  is  to  be  regretted. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

PARKWAYS. 

THE  necessity,  when  we  would  consider  park- 
ways by  themselves,  of  removing  them  from 
the  group  of  city  thoroughfares  into  which 
they  had  naturally  fallen,  is  an  evidence  that  even  in 
theory  they  have  much  in  common  with  the  boule- 
vards and  avenues  of  a city.  In  practice  the  line  of 
demarcation  is  still  more  uncertain.  A street  pre- 
cisely similar  will  be  called  in  one  city  an  avenue,  in 
another  a boulevard,  and  in  a third  a parkway. 
Originally  the  boulevard  was  a street  or  walk  occupy- 
ing the  site  of  demolished  fortifications.  Most  pro- 
perly, therefore,  it  tends  to  encircle  the  town.  But 
even  the  Century  Dictionary  has  already  bestowed 
on  it  a broader  application,  by  defining  it  as  “also  ” 
a “street  which  is  of  especial  width  and  given  a 
park-like  appearance  by  reserving  spaces  at  the  side 
or  centre  for  shade  trees,  flowers,  seats,  and  the  like, 
and  not  used  for  heavy  teaming.”  An  avenue  — 
usually,  but  not  necessarily,  understood  as  built  up 


307 


fIDofcern  Civic  art. 


30S 

with  pretentious  houses  — may  in  its  turn  have  the 
same  peculiarities.  Both  are  quite  likely  to  lead  to  a 
park;  and  while  that  circumstance  may  be  incidental 
with  them,  it  is  not  easy,  the  attribute  being  pro- 
vided, to  tell  whether  it  is  essential,  as  in  the  case 
of  a parkway,  or  fortuitous,  as  with  an  avenue  or 
boulevard.1 

Considered  closely,  however,  the  parkway  may 
have  a development  that  belongs  to  neither  boulevard 
nor  avenue  and  that  justifies  its  separate  discussion. 
In  speaking  of  the  former  thoroughfares,  it  was  noted 
that  the  first  requirement  was  that  they  should  af- 
ford ease  of  communication  and  that  the  second  was 
that  they  should  have  a certain  “dignified  and 
stately  ” beauty.  When  we  come  to  the  parkways, 
there  is  no  restriction  as  to  the  kind  of  beauty  that 
may  be  given.  It  may  be  as  picturesque,  gentle,  and 
softly  winning  as  we  please.  And  while  it  is  neces- 
sary that  a parkway  should  have  connection  with  a 
park, — either  leading  to  it  from  the  city  or  joining 
park  to  park,  if  it  be  not  acting  in  itself  as  a park, — 
yet  there  may  fairly  be  reversal  of  the  old  order  of 
requirements.  Now  the  beauty  of  the  way  is  the 
first  essential.  There  may  be  a hundred  means  of 
approach  to  a given  park,  and  from  necessity  the 
parkway  cannot  be  the  shortest  from  all  portions  of 
the  town.  There  may  even  be  electric  cars  on  other 

*“The  Philadelphia  Parkway  Project,”  for  instance,  might  be  accurately  de- 
fined as  a scheme  to  build  a magnificent  avenue,  or  even  boulevard,  from  the  centre 
of  the  city  to  Fairmount  Park.  Because,  however,  suitable  approach  to  the  park  is 
its  raison  d’etre,  the  proposed  thoroughfare  is  properly  called  a parkway. 


parkways. 


309 


routes,  so  that  it  may  not  be  possible  to  say  that  the 
bulk  of  the  travel  is  by  this  thoroughfare.  But  it  can 
be  said,  if  the  parkways  fill  their  mission,  that  no 
other  approach  will  be  as  pleasant  as  by  them.  En- 
tirely accurate,  therefore,  is  the  suggestion  in  their 
name:  they  are  related  more  closely  to  the  parks  of 
the  town  than  to  its  street  system ; and  ever  in  the 
parks  sheer  directness  — mere  facility  of  communica- 
tion between  distant  points  — is  of  less  account  than 
is  pleasantness  in  the  way  of  going. 

The  relation  that  the  parkways  have  to  the  street 
plan  is  based  on  their  duty  to  transform  separate; 
parks  into  a park  system,  and  to  unite  this  to  the 
street  system.  Repeatedly  the  latter  task  is  relin- 
quished to  existing  avenues,  and  often  these  are  so 
well  fitted  to  perform  it  that  there  would  have  been 
no  justification  for  assuming  the  vast  expense  of 
thrusting  a parkway  through  a closely  built-up  area. 
But  in  such  case,  the  care  of  the  avenue  thus  utilised 
may  well  be  transferred  to  the  park  authorities,  that 
its  development  may  be  rendered  consistent  with  its 
new  function  and  that  it  may  be  appropriately  main- 
tained. An  excellent  example  is  found  in  Boston’s 
Commonwealth  Avenue,  the  success  of  which  in 
carrying  — in  conjunction  with  the  Public  Garden 
and  the  Common  — an  entrance  to  the  park  system 
into  the  very  heart  of  the  city  has  been  already 
noted.  When  this  function  of  the  avenue  was  appre- 
ciated, its  care  was  turned  over  to  the  park  com- 
missioners; there  was  no  need  of  building  a special 


3l° 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


parkway  leading  westward,  and  Boston’s  example  of 
a parkway  becomes  a lovely,  winding,  almost  sylvan 
road  that  follows  the  Fens  and  joins  park  to  park 
rather  than  park  to  city. 

A parkway’s  relation  to  the  street  plan  is,  then, 
about  that  — modified  aesthetically  by  the  strong 
influence  of  the  parks  — which  is  borne  by  the 
arterial  thoroughfares  that  lead  to,  or  unite,  the 
urban  foci.  When  these  focal  points  are  centres  of 
business,  the  highways  that  lead  to  them,  or  connect 
them,  are  business  streets;  in  the  plotting  of  the 
parkways,  when  public  pleasure  grounds  or  reserva- 
tions of  beautiful  scenery  are  substituted  as  the  focal 
points,  it  is  natural  that  the  character  of  the  arterial 
approach  should  also  change,  and  that,  while  it 
serves  relatively  the  same  purpose  as  the  arterial 
street  in  the  business  district,  a first  essential  now 
should  be  the  requirement  that  it  have  a beauty  con- 
sistent with  its  terminal. 

From  that  higher  and  juster  thought  of  a city  as 
an  aggregation  of  homes,  instead  of  merely  as  a 
mart  or  exchange,  it  is  as  important  that  there 
be  reservations  for  public  enjoyment  and  that  they 
be  made  easy  and  pleasant  of  access  as  that  there 
should  be  facilities  for  doing  business.  The  one  is 
as  indispensable  as  the  other  to  a well-rounded  city. 
But  because  appreciation  of  the  value  of  parks  is 
a very  late  product  of  city  development,  and  the 
necessity  of  relieving  the  park  from  that  appearance 
of  “ added  ornamentation  ” which  is  the  abhorrence 


BOSTON 


Chart  Showing  the  Public  Reservations  in  the  Metropolitan  District  of  Boston.  N 
outlying  parks  are  connected  with  the  areas  of  densest  population  by  means  of  parkways. 


parkways. 


31 1 

of  art  is  of  yet  later  perception,  the  parks  usually 
are  in  fact  added  to  the  city  plan,  and  the  parkways 
are  completely  omitted  from  it  until  close  building 
has  supplemented  street  plotting.  For  that  reason, 
a discussion  of  the  genuine  parkway  (as  distin- 
guished from  a utilised  avenue  or  “boulevard”),  in 
its  function  of  an  approach-road  from  the  city  to  the 
parks,  appears  more  academic  than  practical.  But 
when  we  remember  the  splendid  parkway  project  of 
Philadelphia,  and  the  frequency  with  which  there  are 
now  demands  for  a suitable  connection  of  outlying 
parks  with  the  city,  the  theory  of  the  parkway  ap- 
pears still  pertinent.  It  gives  an  ideal  to  work 
toward — even  when  avenues  have  to  be  utilised. 

There  should  at  once  be  recognition  that  there 
may  properly  be  two  kinds  of  parkway  — that  which 
unites  park  and  city,  and  that  which  joins  separated 
parks.  A third  may  be  developed  from  these,  to 
serve  the  ends  of  beauty  and  attractiveness  alone; 
but  even  for  the  former  there  must  be  distinct  con- 
sideration if  they  would  have  appropriate  adjustment 
to  their  purpose. 

It  may  be  noticed  that  the  proposed  Philadelphia 
Parkway,  which  is  of  the  first  group,  is  a straight  line, 
making  the  shortest  possible  distance  from  the  City 
Hall  to  the  park  and  cutting  the  city’s  gridiron  street 
plan  with  a diagonal.  Several  local  considerations 
entered  into  the  selection  of  such  a route,  but  the 
value  of  directness  in  a parkway  which  is  the  ap- 
proach to  the  park  from  the  heart  of  the  city  may  as 


flDo&ern  Civic  art. 


312 

well  be  recognised.  The  advantage  is  akin  to  that 
of  directness  in  the  arterial  thoroughfare  that  leads 
to  any  other  focal  point,  enabling  persons  to  reach  it 
in  the  shortest  possible  time.  But  when  the  purpose 
of  the  parkway  is  simply  to  furnish  a pleasant  ap- 
proach for  those  who  drive,  this  necessity  will  not 
be  so  obvious.  Whenever  car  tracks  are  not  pro- 
vided, the  way  is  practically  such  a drive,  for  it  will  be 
little  used  by  pedestrians;  and  then  detours,  undula- 
tions, and  natural  curves,  if  they  add  distinctly  to  its 
beauty  and  attractiveness,  need  not  be  feared.  In 
Minneapolis,  for  example,  there  is  a very  lovely  park 
approach,  in  Kenwood  Parkway,  which,  with  the 
pleasing  and  natural  irregularity  of  a winding  brook, 
carries  the  charm  of  the  parks  close  to  the  homes  of 
many  of  those  who  can  be  independent  of  the  cars. 
This  is  why  sheer  directness  cannot  be  said  to  be  a 
first  essential  in  all  the  parkways  even  of  this  group, 
though  obviously  it  may  very  often  be  desirable. 

Where  there  are  cars,  the  approach  may  well  be 
made  direct;  and  it  is  worth  while  to  note  that  a 
provision  for  car  tracks  is  an  entirely  appropriate 
development  on  this  thoroughfare.  Indeed,  from  the 
standpoint  of  the  city  as  a whole,  it  is  difficult  to  see 
that  the  parkway  has  any  higher  or  more  urgent 
duty  than  that  of  affording  swift,  cheap,  easy,  and 
pleasant  access  to  the  parks  for  “ the  masses  ” of  the 
city.  This  can  be  done  only  by  giving  to  it  sufficient 
breadth  to  accommodate  — in  addition  to  roadways 
and  walks  — separated  car  tracks.  That  they  may 


parkways. 


313 


be  added  without  injuring  seriously  the  beauty  or 
safety  of  the  way  has  already  appeared  in  the  dis- 
position of  the  tracks  on  the  great  avenues.  There 
is  in  thus  facilitating  the  rapid  transportation  of  city 
crowds  to  and  from  the  parks  a further  advantage. 
Not  only  does  the  parkway  do  real  service  to  the 
crowds  by  this  means,  but  in  removing  the  heavy 
travel  from  the  ordinary  city  streets,  which  other- 
wise must  be  used  as  the  main  approaches,  and 
transferring  it  to  a highway  that  has  been  especially 
designed  and  set  apart  for  the  purpose,  it  relieves 
residential  streets  of  the  noise,  confusion,  and  danger 
consequent  on  the  handling  of  extra  traffic.1 

Thus,  even  for  the  parkway  which  serves  as  an  ap- 
proach from  the  city  to  the  park  there  may  suitably  be 
two  types  of  development.  It  may  be  broad,  straight, 
direct,  with  car  tracks  on  it,  and  so  be  like  one  of 
those  arterial  avenues  that  unite  the  broad  residential 
belt  with  the  business  centre  of  the  city.  Or  it  may 
be  luxuriously  and  indolently  roundabout,  sacrificing 
everything  — breadth  of  roadway,  directness,  and  a 
provision  for  moving  large  multitudes  — to  the  one 
end  of  beauty,  so  that  it  carries  the  restful  peace  and 
loveliness  of  the  park  far  into  the  city. 

1 A suggested  breadth  and  its  apportionment  for  such  an  approach  road  is  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  feet,  this  allowing  thirty-five  feet  for  the  electric  railway, 
which  is  to  be  on  a shaded  strip  of  turf,  and  on  each  side  of  it  a roadway  thirty  feet 
wide,  a planting  strip  seven  feet  wide,  and  a sidewalk  eight  feet  in  breadth.  This, 
or  five  feet  less,  is  pretty  nearly  the  minimum  for  this  kind  of  parkway.  The  width 
can  be  increased  to  two  hundred  or  even  three  hundred  feet,  and  be  wholly  utilized 
with  good  effect  by  screening  the  cars  with  belts  of  shrubbery,  adding  bridle 
paths,  etc. 


3H 


flDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


For  the  parkway  of  which  the  function  is  to  trans- 
form isolated  areas  of  park  land  into  a coherent 
system,  by  uniting  one  to  another,  the  latter  develop- 
ment alone  is  suitable.  The  parkway  that  joins  them 
must  be  in  the  seeming,  however  narrow,  a strip  of 
park.  In  driving,  walking,  riding,  or  bicycling  from 
one  portion  of  the  system  to  another,  there  must 
be  no  need  of  recourse  to  city  streets.  There  is  to 
be  desired  no  break  of  unwelcome  contrast,  but 
by  continuing  park  roads  and  park-like  scenery  a 
persistency  of  beauty  throughout  the  system.  This, 
clearly,  is  the  ideal;  and  if,  repeatedly,  the  cities  — 
induced  by  the  economy  of  large  recoupments 
in  the  high  value  of  building  lots  on  these  linking 
roads  — transform  them  into  avenues  or  boulevards, 
they  are  not  wholly  true  to  the  civic-art  ideal.  If 
they  still  call  them  “parkways,”  they  only  make 
confession  of  the  knowledge  of  their  guilt.  The 
true  way  were  to  lose  in  a mystery  of  planting  the 
narrow  borders  of  the  tract.1 

It  is  fitting  that  the  parkway  which  unites  out- 
lying parks  should  partake  of  the  character  of  its 
termini.  And  we  have  observed  that  civic  art  would 

1 Those  roads  that  follow,  under  the  titles  Fenway,  Riverway,  Jamaicaway, 
etc.,  the  Fens  of  Boston  illustrate  a compromise  that  is  interesting  because  unusually 
successful.  Here  a meandering  stream,  with  a broad  shallow  channel  and  charm- 
ingly planted  banks,  sets  the  winding  course  for  a park  road  on  either  side,  with 
walk  and  bridle  path.  On  the  far  border  of  each  road,  often  at  varying  level  from 
it,  and  separated  very  widely  from  their  counterpart  across  the  stream,  — perhaps 
even  “ planted  out  ” as  respects  the  other  shore, — there  are  building  sites.  Now  and 
then  a structure  rises  so  prominently  as  to  mar  the  prospect  and  to  awaken  dread 
of  the  time  when  the  buildings  will  be  more  numerous,  but  on  the  whole  the  sacri- 
fice has  as  yet  involved  small  loss. 


The  Sumac  Drive  in  the  Park  and  Pleasure  Drive  Association’s  Holdings,  Madison,  Wis.  A 
how  outlying  parks  that  have  been  developed  in  the  natural  style  can  be  suitably  connected. 


parkways. 


3 1 5 


permit  much  latitude  in  the  development  of  the  road, 
approving  of  picturesqueness,  of  natural  or  formal 
beauty,  or  of  architectural  pretentiousness,  according 
to  the  conditions  under  which  it  is  laid  out  and  the 
nature  of  the  termini.  Because  outlying  parks,  how- 
ever, are  generally  large  parks  developed  in  the 
natural  style,  it  were  usually  better  to  have  in  mind 
— as  the  ideal  — a country  lane  with  its  tangled 
flower-decked  border,  or  a wood  road  with  its  dark 
vistas  and  twinkling  sunlight,  than  the  city  avenue’s 
stately  elegance  and  precision.  Then  there  will  be 
no  discordant  jar  in  the  progress  from  park  to  park, 
but  even  the  addition  of  a new,  harmonious,  charm. 
As  fittingly,  however,  the  formal  park  will  be  ap- 
proached or  left  by  a formally  developed  parkway,  in 
which  the  architectural  and  purely  artificial  character 
will  have  emphasis.  Or  it  may  be  that  in  its  linking 
of  reservation  to  reservation  the  parkway  will  have 
to  pass  over  a portion  of  the  city  on  a viaduct  — for 
the  parks  are  likely  to  include  high  ground.  It 
would  not  be  practical  to  give  a semblance  of  natural- 
ness to  such  a road,  nor  would  there  be  art  in  the 
insincerity.  The  outlook  would  be  over  the  house- 
tops of  the  city, — than  which  no  prospect  could  be 
more  urban, — and  we  should  now  develop  our  park- 
way on  frankly  architectural  lines,  finding  the  key- 
note in  the  huge  structure  of  the  viaduct  itself.1 

The  thought  of  the  fascination  of  the  outlook 

A convenient  example  is  found  in  the  northern  extensions  of  Riverside  Drive, 
New  York. 


fIDobern  Gmc  art. 


316 

from  a bridge  — whether  we  look  on  idling  streams, 
into  dark  ravines,  upon  freighted  ships,  or  over  house- 
tops— is  a reminder  of  the  apt  assertion  that  a bridge 
is  the  most  attractive  of  parks  or  promenades,  in 
proportion  to  its  area.  Witness,  the  temptation  to 
linger  there,  exhilarated  by  the  broad  view  and  the 
free  air.  If  the  function  of  the  parkway  were,  like 
that  of  the  park,  only  to  give  pleasure,  there  would 
often  be  justification  for  such  construction  when  the 
necessities,  and  even  the  convenience,  of  travel  did 
not  require  it.  And  the  parkway  is  coming  to  have 
this  third  function,  is  being  constructed  now  and 
then  not  to  lead  to  anything  in  particular,  not  to 
join  park  to  park  or  park  to  city,  but  solely  because 
of  its  own  possible  beauty  and  the  pleasure  it  may 
give. 

The  development  was  not  surprising,  for  a road 
of  which  the  first  requirement  was  beauty  and  only 
the  second  communication;  and  no  discussion  of 
parkways  can  approach  completeness  if  it  do  not  take 
into  consideration  the  existence  of  a group  tending 
to  serve  this  purpose.  It  will  not  be  easy  to  define 
the  group  with  accuracy.  Again  and  again,  park- 
ways that  belong  in  it  will  merge  into  the  boulevard 
or  stately  avenue.  Riverside  Drive,  New  York,  is  a 
fair  example,  with  its  terraced  bluffs  and  its  miles  of 
noble  views  across  the  Hudson.  But  one  side  of  the 
Drive  is  built  up  with  houses,  so  that  the  thorough- 
fare has  already  invited  discussion  as  a splendid 
residential  street.  Summit  Avenue  in  St.  Paul 


parkways. 


3‘7 


occupies  a similar  position,  on  a bluff  overlooking 
the  Mississippi;  but  it  is  built  up  on  both  sides,  and 
cannot  be  thought  of  save  as  a magnificently  situated 
avenue. 

As  a rule,  however,  the  appellations  are  used  too 
loosely  to  serve  as  guides,  and  in  seeking  to  dis- 
tinguish this  type  of  parkway  from  boulevard  or 
avenue,  we  shall  have  to  look  narrowly  for  the  pur- 
pose of  the  construction  in  each  separate  case.  If 
Riverside  Drive,  for  example,  was  created  primarily 
to  secure  for  public  enjoyment  the  beauty  of  its  view; 
if  this  was  the  object  (as  it  surely  was)  of  Duluth’s 
splendid  “Boulevard”  Drive,  skirting  Lake  Superior 
at  a height  of  four  or  five  hundred  feet  above  the 
water;  or  of  the  eight-mile  shell  road  along  the  sea- 
shore at  Mobile, — to  note  an  example  separated  by 
the  length  of  the  United  States, — or  of  the  Ocean 
Boulevard  in  San  Francisco,  then  we  shall  do  well  to 
call  them  “parkways.”  For  the  parkways  of  this 
group  may  be  described  as  elongated  and  greatly 
narrowed  strips  of  park — which  will  mean  that  they 
were  constructed  for  the  same  general  purpose  as  that 
for  which  parks  are  established  — used  also  as  means 
of  communication.  With  this  definition,  the  drive 
may  lie  through  a ravine  shut  in  by  walls  of  natural 
beauty  that  give  no  hint  of  adjacent  boundaries,  it 
may  traverse  fields,  may  include  brook  or  river 
between  its  divided  ways,  or  it  may  be  reduced  to 
barely  a road’s  width  — with  a view  beyond. 

Recognition  of  this  third  type  of  parkway  invites 


HDo&ern  Civic  art. 


318 

the  inclusion  in  it  of  that  luxury  of  urban  develop- 
ment— the  speedway.  This  too  is  a road  designed 
for  no  other  purpose  than  to  give  pleasure,  and  it 
may  be  claimed  for  the  speedway  that  the  pleasure  it 
gives  is  by  no  means  confined  to  the  drivers  of  fast 
horses.  The  great  numbers  to  whom,  as  onlookers, 
its  free  exhibitions  afford  keen  delight  suggest  that  as 
a pleasure-giving  drive  the  speedway  — which  is  cer- 
tainly not  to  be  classed  among  the  thoroughfares 
that  are  integral  parts  of  the  street  plan  — may  rightly 
be  grouped  only  with  the  parkways.  And  yet  there 
is  this  distinction  to  be  noted:  the  special  object  of 
the  parkway  is  beauty,  and  it  belongs  by  inherent 
right  to  municipal  aesthetics.  To  the  speedway 
there  may  be  given  the  beauty  of  clear-cut  lines,  of 
long  straight  reaches,  of  engineering  exactness;  and 
the  stateliness  that  comes  from  mere  breadth  of  firm, 
clean  roadway;  of  long  perspective  marred  by  no 
breaks  in  its  continuity;  of  formal  rows  of  regular 
and  stunning  light  fixtures  and  perhaps  of  trees. 
But  such  handsome  treatment  will  be,  quite  as  on  the 
business  street,  secondary  to  the  first  function  of 
the  speedway.  The  road  would  seem  then,  in  the 
building  of  the  city,  to  stand  almost  by  itself — a 
luxury  (in  that  its  one  purpose  is  to  give  pleasure) 
which  civic  art  will  not  require,  as  it  may  require 
the  parkway,  for  complete  topographical  develop- 
ment; but  which,  given,  civic  art  will  turn  to  the 
best  advantage  that  it  can  — levying  upon  it  contri- 
bution to  the  stateliness  and  dignity  of  the  city,  as 


pathway.  319 

it  makes  levy  of  the  great  avenues  and  even  of  the 
tenements. 

In  this  chapter  it  will  be  observed  that  in  so  far 
as  the  discussion  has  been  concrete,  rather  than  of 
parkways  in  the  abstract,  cited  examples  have  been 
from  the  United  States  to  the  exclusion  of  European 
instances.  This  is  not  that  Europe  has  no  beautiful 
drives  as  municipal  possessions;  but  it  may  be 
doubted  whether  it  has  any  better  than  those  of  the 
United  States,  or  whether  it  has  as  many  of  them 
to  offer.  In  parks  and  park  development  America 
has  little  to  learn  from  across  the  sea.  Perhaps 
this  is  because  it  has  had  to  begin  at  the  beginning 
and  in  a few  years  do  everything,  while  in  the  coun- 
tries of  ancient  cities  many  a park  is  a growth  of 
centuries,  and  many  a lovely  urban  pleasure  ground 
is  crown  property  that  owes  most  of  its  charm  merely 
to  having  been  left  alone  for  generations.  The  re- 
sult may  be  fully  as  attractive  to  the  eye  of  the  citizen 
of  to-day,  but  the  process  cannot  be  as  favourable 
to  the  development  of  a science  or  formula  of  city 
beauty. 

There  is,  also,  this  difference:  in  America  where 
the  cities  are  newer  the  parks  tend  more  than  in 
Europe  to  be,  in  semblance  at  least,  indivisible  parts 
of  the  cities  themselves  — to  enter  into  the  urban 
structure  as  elements  of  beauty  that  are  inseparable, 
not  accidental  or  added,  ornaments.  To  emphasise 
this  character  is  one  of  the  first  functions  of  the  park- 
way, in  its  transformation  of  isolated  pleasure  grounds 


320 


flDo&ern  Civic  art. 


into  a system  and  the  union  of  this  system  with  the 
street  plan  of  the  city.  From  the  broad  standpoint 
of  civic  art,  which  would  find  scant  satisfaction  in 
the  development  of  a beautiful  park  to  the  neglect 
of  the  remaining  urban  territory,  this  function  is 
of  extreme  importance.  There  must  be  not  con- 
junction, but  combination;  not  addition,  but  change. 
If  the  park,  in  its  skilfully  emphasised  natural  beauty, 
be  the  aesthetic  treasure  of  the  city,  the  parkway 
must  be  the  proper  approach  to  it,  the  setting  of  that 
jewel  worn  with  entire  propriety  on  the  fair  — the 
richly  adorned  — city’s  breast. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

DISTRIBUTION  AND  LOCATION  OF  PARKS. 

A YOUNG  landscape  architect,  who  subsequently 
became  in  the  achievements  of  his  short  lifei 
one  of  the  leaders  of  his  profession  in  the 
United  States,  has  expressed  conveniently  the  dif- 
ference in  purpose  of  the  city  park  and  “square.”1 
He  said: 

Smaller  spaces  can  satisfy  many  of  the  desires  of  the  crowded 
city  people — can  supply  fresh  air  and  ample  play  room,  and 
shade  of  trees,  and  brightness  of  grass  and  flowers  — but  the  oc- 
casionally so  pressing  want  of  that  quiet  and  peculiar  refresh- 
ment which  comes  from  contemplation  of  scenery  — the  want 
which  the  rich  satisfy  by  fleeing  from  town  at  certain  seasons, 
but  which  the  poor  (who  are  trespassers  in  the  country)  can  sel- 
dom fill  — is  only  to  be  met  by  the  country-park. 

The  refreshment  that  the  “ park  ” as  distinguished 

1 The  man  was  Charles  Eliot,  and  from  the  long  story  of  his  life  and  work  that 
has  been  given  to  the  public  by  his  father, — Charles  Eliot,  Landscape  Architect, 
by  Charles  W.  Eliot, — many  suggestions  for  this  and  the  succeeding  chapter  have 
been  drawn,  as  henceforth  every  writer  upon  city  parks  must  draw  from  it.  The 
article  to  which  reference  is  here  made  was  published  in  Garden  and  Forest,  Octo- 
ber, 1888. 


321 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


from  the  “square''  is  designed  to  give  may  be  de- 
fined, then,  as  that  of  relief  from  the  excessive  arti- 
ficiality of  city  life,  and  from  its  strain  and  striving. 
A large  public  park  may  serve,  of  course,  a variety 
of  purposes;  but  this  one  of  them  will  be  more  pro- 
minent, more  necessary,  than  the  others.  If  there  be 
ever  a conflict  in  the  requirements  of  the  several  pur- 
poses, the  others  must  be  sacrificed  to  this,  or  none 
will  be  successfully  realised  and  the  result  will  be 
scrappy  and  confused.  The  dominant  motif  must  be 
that  of  change  from  the  normal  conditions  of  town 
life  — from  some  of  its  unnatural  pleasures  as  well  as 
from  its  cares  and  its  artificiality  of  outlook. 

So  the  modern  city  in  its  large  public  park  has  as 
distinct  and  definite  a function  to  perform  as  in  any 
other  portion  of  its  structure.  How  modern  this  is; 
how  entirely  it  is  due  to  the  pressure  at  which  we 
live  and  work  to-day;  how  it  serves  an  ethical,  a 
sociological,  even  a hygienic  end,  as  well  as  the 
esthetic  purpose;  and  so  how  naturally  attempt  to 
satisfy  it  becomes  a phase  of  modern  civic  art,  will 
appear  on  very  slight  reflection.  There  is  no  need 
of  explanation;  but  we  should  note  that  civic  art  will 
be  playing  its  old  role — gaining  its  own,  peculiar 
end,  of  urban  beauty,  by  merely  the  fitting  of  the 
park  to  serve  best  the  purpose  for  which  parks  are 
wanted.  Indeed,  this  form  of  civic  art  is  almost  the 
first  to  be  recognised  popularly,  and  approved.  And 
this  is  because  it  is  so  unmistakably  clear  that  only 
by  aesthetic  development,  by  the  greatest  possible 


View  in  Seneca  Park,  East,  Rochester,  N.  Y.  Note  the  invitation  to  loiter  and  enjoy  the  view. 


Distribution  ant>  location  of  iparfts.  323 


increase  of  charm  and  beauty,  can  the  parks  best 
serve  their  end. 

The  park  becomes,  then,  for  the  purposes  of  urban 
study  that  public  reservation  which  has  been  set 
aside  to  soothe  tired  brains  and  hearts  and  wearied 
nerves  by  the  quiet  restfulness  of  its  beauty.  Be- 
cause this  is  so  definitely  the  modern  conception  of 
its  duty,  there  has  come  to  be  a curious  notion  that 
it  may  be  possible  to  determine  the  proper  park 
acreage  for  a given  community  by  a mathematical 
calculation  that  need  be  no  more  intricate  than  that 
by  which  a physician  estimates  the  amount  of  seda- 
tive he  would  administer.  Given  the  number  of 
people,  how  many  acres  of  parks  shall  we  provide? 
It  is  a common  question,  as  if  the  science  of  modern 
city-building  could  reduce  to  a fixed  ratio  the  proper 
relation  of  park  area  to  population.  To  discover  this 
ratio  there  has  been  a great  deal  of  figuring  and  com- 
piling of  reports,  for  it  would  be  a convenient  thing 
to  have.  But  consideration  of  the  park’s  purpose 
should  show  the  futility  of  even  hoping  to  discover 
a law. 

On  the  one  hand,  the  community’s  need  of  the 
park  will  vary  according  to  the  pace  at  which  it  lives, 
the  density  with  which  the  town  is  built, — that  is, 
the  frequency  of  private  gardens,  the  number  of  open 
spaces,  and  of  streets  with  trees  and  parking, — 
and  finally  upon  the  parks’  distribution  and  acces- 
sibility. Thus  some  communities  have  much  more 
need  of  parks  than  have  others  of  equal  population, 


3^4 


fIDobern  Civic  art. 


just  as  different  patients  need  different  doses.  The 
“average  man”  is  familiarly  recognised  physiologi- 
cally as  a myth.  It  is  idle  also  to  seek  suggestion  in 
the  statistics  of  cities.  In  the  United  States,  among 
cities  of  one  hundred  thousand  or  more  population, 
the  number  of  people  per  acre  of  park  has  been  found 
to  vary  from  twenty-seven  and  five-tenths  to  eleven 
thousand  four  hundred  and  sixty-six.  And  in  the 
single  city  of  Chicago  there  is  an  acre  of  park  in  one 
portion  of  the  town  to  every  two  hundred  and  thirty- 
four  persons;  while  for  another  section  of  the  popula- 
tion the  city  affords  only  an  acre  to  four  thousand  seven 
hundred  and  twenty.  The  latter  proportion  affects  a 
vast  number  and  is  very  much  worse  than  the  show- 
ing of  the  average  allotment  for  the  entire  city.1  But 
it  proves,  for  the  difference  in  some  cities  would  be 
more  striking  than  in  Chicago,  how  poor  a basis  of 
judgment  the  “ average  ” record  is,  because  of  the  fac- 
tor of  distribution. 

Observe,  also,  that  the  success  with  which  a park 
will  serve  its  purpose  depends  more  on  the  topo- 
graphy and  the  natural  character  of  the  scenery  than 
upon  the  number  of  acres  comprised  within  its 
boundaries.  A long,  peaceful  view  is  a powerful 
element  in  giving  that  sense  of  repose  which  is  desir- 
able in  a country-park.  Where  the  land  is  flat,  it 
may  be  necessary  to  include  many  acres  in  order  to 
secure  such  a prospect  without  break  or  jar;  where 
there  is  a hill,  a little  area  on  its  crest  may  give  the 


1 American  Municipal  Progress,  by  Charles  Zueblin. 


5>istribution  anb  location  ot'  lparfts.  325 

result  in  an  outlook  over  peaceful,  private  farmsteads; 
or  a few  acres  spread  in  a thin  line  around  the  margin 
of  a lake  may  enclose  so  complete  a picture  as  to 
produce  with  ever  so  little  land  the  desired  impres- 
sion. 

So  there  is  properly  no  law  to  be  enunciated  re- 
garding the  ratio  of  area  to  population,  although  it 
has  been  suggested  that  a minimum  should  be  estab- 
lished of  one  acre  of  park  (and  city  square)  to  two 
hundred  people.1  This  has  been  figured  out  not 
only  with  reference  to  a possibility  of  crowding, 
which  obviously  would  defeat  the  purpose  of  the 
park,  but  with  regard  to  an  appropriate  per  capita 
charge  for  construction  and  maintenance.  Doubt- 
less its  chief  value  from  the  standpoint  of  civic  art 
would  lie,  not  in  proportioning  original  park  acreage 
to  a city,  but  in  suggesting  the  increases  in  the  ex- 
isting provision  — supposing  that  to  be  precisely 
adequate  to-day  — which  would  be  fairly  commen- 
surate with  a continued  growth  in  population. 

It  is  to  be  predicated,  if  park  requirements  seem 
to  have  been  considered  with  some  exactness,  that 
civic  art  feels  in  the  development  of  the  parks  the 
thrill  and  inspiration  of  a great  opportunity  and  the 
incentive  to  make  the  very  most  — at  whatever  cost 
of  painstaking  — of  this  powerful  element  in  the 
aggregate  of  city  beauty.  As  a municipal  possession 
the  parks  are  peculiar  to  modern  times  and  are 

1 Park  Census  Report  for  1901 , of  the  American  Park  and  Outdoor  Art 
Association. 


3-6 


fIDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


therefore  the  special  problem  and  special  chance  of 
modern  civic  art.  It  is  because  of  this  fact,  how- 
ever unconscious  its  apprehension,  that  the  park 
problem  is  generally  grappled  more  intelligently,  and 
with  more  thoroughness,  at  the  awakening  of  civic- 
art  ambition,  than  any  other  of  the  problems  of 
municipal  aesthetics.  There  is  almost  uniformly  re- 
cognition of  the  necessity  of  expert  guidance,  not 
merely  in  the  engineering  features  of  the  park,  but, 
with  increasing  frequency,  in  its  original  location, 
and  almost  completely  in  its  artistic  development. 
Any  politician  will  be  allowed  to  pass  upon  the 
beauty  of  a lamp-post  long  after  the  community  has 
decreed  that  all  the  politicians  together  shall  not 
have  power  to  designate  the  location  of  a single 
shrub  in  the  park.  This  dependence  upon  expert 
taste  is  a very  happy  condition,  representing  the  at- 
tainment in  one  phase  of  urban  development  of  that 
popular  attitude  which  is  to  be  the  ideal  for  all  — and 
so  long  the  vain  ideal. 

The  location  and  distribution  of  the  parks  must 
seem,  of  course,  a much  more  humdrum  and  prosaic 
affair  than  the  development  of  their  beauty.  The 
preparation  of  the  canvas  and  the  selection  of  the 
block  of  marble  are  never  as  interesting  to  the  ob- 
server as  the  painting  of  the  picture  and  the  freeing 
of  the  marble-imprisoned  figure.  But  these  acts  are 
elementary.  They  are  so  fundamental  that  upon  the 
excellence  with  which  they  are  done  is  dependent 
any  ultimate  success.  From  that  point  of  view  they 


Distribution  anb  location  of  flbarfes.  327 

are  more  thrilling  even,  in  the  sense  which  they 
should  give  of  responsibility  and  of  opportunity, 
than  is  that  subsequent  development  which  might, 
if  proved  a failure,  be  undone. 

Consideration,  then,  of  the  requirements  of  the 
parks,  from  the  side  of  the  parks  and  of  the  com- 
munity, brings  us  to  these  common-sense  and  simple 
conclusions:  the  country-  or  rural-park  — as  it  is 
called  to  distinguish  it  from  the  city  square  — 
should  contain  sufficient  acreage  to  include  a com- 
plete natural  landscape,  where  the  boundaries  will 
not  be  obtrusive.  The  multiplication  of  such  parks 
or  landscapes  should  continue  until  the  community 
is  sufficiently  served,  both  as  to  numbers,  so  that 
it  may  be  possible  to  find  secluded  spots  however 
popular  the  parks,  and  as  to  distribution,  so  that  all 
portions  of  the  community  may  be  served  with  an 
equality  based,  in  the  ideal,  upon  their  needs.  Thus 
will  be  created  — if  not  by  the  municipality  alone,  by 
the  co-operation  with  it  of  the  surrounding  towns 
or  by  the  united  action  of  a whole  county  — a park 
system,  parkways  uniting  the  separate  parks.  For 
it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  one  plot  would  have, 
or  could  have,  such  geographical  position  and  extent 
as  to  be  equally  satisfactory  to  every  part  of  the 
community. 

But  into  the  question  of  location  there  enter  other 
than  sociological  considerations.  The  relative  cost 
of  various  plots  must  always  be  a factor  locally;  and 
because  the  park  is  to  be,  pre-eminently,  a tract  of 


fIDobern  Civic  art. 


328 

movingly  beautiful  scenery,  developed  on  natural 
lines  that  it  may  present  the  greatest  contrast  to  the 
town’s  artificiality,  the  landscape  possibilities  of  the 
area  have  to  be  carefully  regarded.  And  in  this  we 
come  to  principles  that  may  be  of  general  service. 

Charles  Eliot,  in  addressing  the  Metropolitan  Park 
Commission  of  Boston,  criticised  the  tendency  of 
many  towns  to  select  their  park  lands  with  reference 
to  “ a certain  inherited  pre-conception  ” of  what  parks 
ought  to  be — -borrowing  their  notion  from  the  “ deer 
park,”  the  grassy  land  dotted  with  great  trees,  that 
is  the  common  English  concept  of  the  word  “park  ” 
He  then  laid  down  three  principles  of  selection.  The 
first  was  that  the  land  should  possess,  or  afford 
opportunity  for  the  creation  of,  interesting  or  beauti- 
ful scenery,  of  one  type  or  another.  The  second 
was  that  the  land  should  generally  be  a tract  that 
was  ill  adapted  to  streets  and  buildings.  The  third 
was  that  it  should  be  related  with  as  much  sym- 
metry as  possible  to  the  district  that  it  was  desired 
to  serve.  The  second  principle  is  important  as 
affecting  the  probable  cost  of  the  land.  It  has  been 
elaborated  by  the  secretary  of  the  Essex  County 
(New  Jersey)  Park  Commission  to  include  land 
“difficult  to  use  for  any  other  purpose  and  danger- 
ous to  the  public  health,”  which  shall,  in  its  con- 
version into  a pleasure  ground,  have  its  unsightly 
and  menacing  character  eliminated.  In  this,  clearly, 
there  would  be  a great  gain.  Not  only  would  cheap 
land  be  secured,  but  an  unsanitary  area  would  be 


distribution  anb  Xocation  of  parks.  329 

made  to  contribute  to  the  health  of  the  community 
and  an  eyesore  to  its  beauty.  To  these  principles 
one  other  may  be  added  — or  it  may  be  conceived  as 
an  elaboration  of  the  first:  preserve  to  public  enjoy- 
ment the  most  striking  natural  feature,  be  it  the 
finest  view  or  the  best  scenery,  of  the  region  in  and 
about  the  town. 

Out  of  the  principles  there  comes  a rule  that 
applies  so  often  that  it  may  be  laid  down  almost 
as  a principle:  reserve  for  park  development  the 
stream  banks  of  the  community.  This  acquirement 
is  nearly  sure  to  be  picturesque,  potentially  if  not  in 
fact,  and  has  certainly  the  relief  of  variety;  it  is  quite 
likely  to  be  distinctive;  and  it  is  frequently,  until 
thus  taken  charge  of,  a menace  to  the  health  of  the 
community,  for  it  is  low,  often  swampy,  and  pro- 
bably made  a dumping-ground  if  notan  open  sewer 
for  the  neighbourhood.  On  this  account  also,  while 
possessing  perhaps  the  district’s  greatest  chance  of 
beauty,  it  is  a source  of  ugliness  until  redeemed. 
But  the  ridges  of  its  rising  banks  are  likely  to  furnish 
a convenient  natural  boundary  to  frame  a landscape 
picture  to  be  here  created,  while  the  trans-water 
view,  which  is  always  charming,  adds  the  width  of 
the  stream  to  the  apparent  park  area  without  re- 
moving an  equal  tract  from  the  slender  tax-lists  ot 
the  town  or  from  the  habitable  area  of  the  crowded 
city.  The  reservation  affords,  too,  public  access  to 
a sure  current  of  fresh  air,  and  possibly  to  a place 
for  water  sports.  In  short,  no  inland  space  equally 


330 


flDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


contracted  is  likely  to  serve  well  so  many  ends.  The 
one  serious  obstacle  to  such  location  is  the  possible 
commercial  productiveness  of  the  banks.  On  this 
account  it  often  proves  impracticable  to  obtain  more 
than  isolated  areas,  of  mere  “open  space”  extent, 
and  the  community  has  still  to  go  for  its  country- 
park  into  the  environs,  unable  even  to  approach  it 
by  a stream-bank  parkway.  Fortunately,  however, 
if  also  unhappily,  more  towns  and  cities  might  estab- 
lish parks  upon  the  banks  of  their  streams  than 
dream  of  doing  so. 

This  is  especially  true  among  the  smaller  towns; 
and  with  them,  it  should  be  noted,  the  park  require- 
ments are  not  quite  the  same  as  with  the  larger 
cities.  There  is,  for  example,  very  little  real  need  of 
providing  carriage-drives,  for  it  will  be  easy  to  reach 
innumerable  pleasant  country  roads,  which  spread 
from  the  town  in  all  directions  and  for  distances  that 
would  be  the  despair  of  a park  commission.  The 
tendency  of  the  town  to  follow  the  example  of  the 
city  has  caused  this  condition  to  be  widely  ignored, 
although  it  is  so  plain  that  it  should  be  recognised  at 
once.  And  the  park  of  the  quiet  country  town  may 
often  cater  more  frankly  to  the  entertainment  of  the 
people  than  it  is  proper  for  the  rural-park  of  a city  to 
do.  The  stream  or  lake,  in  the  opportunities  it 
offers  for  boating,  skating,  etc.,  may  thus  give  here 
the  keynote  to  the  attractiveness  of  the  whole  pleas- 
ure ground. 

Having  determined  the  general  location  of  the 


Distribution  anb  location  of  lParhs.  331 


park  and  its  approximate  acreage,  there  rises  a nice 
question  as  to  the  precise  location  of  the  boundary 
line.  A shifting  of  this  a few  feet  to  one  side  or  the 
other  may  make  more  difference  in  the  park’s  ap- 
pearance than  is  commonly  realised;  and  civic  art, 
as  we  have  seen,  must  be  at  least  as  scrupulous  in 
its  efforts  to  secure  the  maximum  of  beauty  for  the 
park  as  for  the  smaller  open  space,  for  the  lighting- 
apparatus,  or  for  any  other  detail  in  the  furnishing 
and  adorning  of  the  city. 

A leading  firm  of  landscape  architects,  writing 
some  years  ago  to  a park  commission  which  employed 
them,  thus  aptly  summarised  the  commoner  treat1 
ment  of  the  boundary  problem: 

It  is  generally  easier  to  acquire  the  whole  of  a given  parcel 
of  real  estate,  though  half  of  it  is  not  really  wanted,  and  then  to 
omit  the  purchase  of  any  of  the  next  parcel,  though  half  of  that 
is  sadly  needed,  than  it  is  to  acquire  a part  from  this  and  a part 
from  that  for  the  sake  of  obtaining  what  is  essential,  and  omitting 
what  is  of  less  importance,  to  the  landscape  of  the  domain  to  be 
preserved.  There  are  few  public  grounds  which  are  not  grossly 
deformed  by  the  imperfections  of  their  boundaries.  Almost 
everywhere  the  immediate  saving  in  time  and  trouble  for  the 
surveyor,  the  conveyancer,  and  the  commission  concerned  has 
worked  permanent  injury  to  public  interests  in  public  scenery. 


It  is  only  too  true  that  those  who  should  be  the 
champions  of  civic  art  are  thus  often  careless.  They 
do  not  insist  upon  a strict  adherence  to  the  ideal  in 
a matter  that  seems  a small  detail,  but  that  actually 
may  affect  seriously  the  beauty  of  the  park  and  the 
relation  of  the  park  to  the  town. 


flDobern  Civic  Hit. 


332 

The  suggestion  that  the  acreage  of  a given  park 
would  best  include  a complete  natural  landscape  sets 
down  the  general  position  of  the  boundaries.  They 
should  enclose  a topographical  unit.  Half  a hill- 
slope,  half  a pond,  half  a glen  will  not  suffice,  nor 
will  the  whole  do  unless  this  include  the  unit’s 
natural  frame.  If  an  arbitrary  frame  be  apparent,  the 
charm  of  the  scene  is  lost,  for  to  the  city  dweller  no 
small  element  in  the  park’s  attractiveness  is  the  im- 
pression of  spaciousness,  the  feeling  that  here  there 
is  plenty  of  room.  An  obvious  circumscribing  of  the 
area,  as  by  securing,  for  example,  land  that  reaches 
exactly  to  the  top  of  the  hill, — where  private 
construction  then  defines  park  limits, — immensely 
reduces  the  pleasure  that  might  have  been  given  by 
pushing  the  boundaries  over  the  crest  of  the  hill,  so 
that  the  wilderness  should  seem  of  indefinite  extent. 

Those  sides  of  the  park,  which  in  time  may  be- 
come all  sides  of  it,  that  touch  the  town  can  best 
be  bounded  by  streets  — not  necessarily  by  straight 
streets;  indeed,  preferably  by  those  of  waving  lines. 
The  park  gains  by  having  as  its  boundary  a publicly 
controlled  highway  instead  of  individuals’  back  yards 
that  may  be  neglected.  The  community  gains, 
because  the  park,  instead  of  being  shut  away  behind 
private  lands  and  to  a large  extent  concealed,  is 
brought  into  visibly  close  proximity;  because  it  makes 
a positive  and  great  addition  to  the  beauty  of  the 
street  it  touches;  and  because  by  its  relation  to  the 
street  it  creates  attractive,  and  therefore  valuable. 


Distribution  ant>  location  of  parks.  333 


building  sites.  Finally,  the  arrangement  is  better  for 
the  individuals  of  the  community.  On  the  one  hand, 
gardens  that  adjoined  the  public  domain  would  be 
much  more  subject  to  trespass  than  if  there  were  a 
street  between ; on  the  other,  there  might  well  be  a 
sense  of  injustice  in  the  maintenance  at  public  ex- 
pense of  a beautiful  natural  park  separated  by  no 
visible  line  from  an  individual’s  private  garden,  so  as 
virtually  to  be  added  to  his  estate. 

To  carry  the  boundary  over  the  ridges  of  enclos- 
ing hills;  not  to  be  hampered  by  private  boundaries, 
but,  rather,  to  deviate  from  straight  lines  if  so  a great 
boulder,  a clump  of  noble  trees,  a face  of  rock,  or  a 
lovely  watercourse  can  be  included  to  complete  the 
landscape  picture;  and,  where  town  and  park  adjoin, 
to  make  a public  way  the  boundary  — these  are  rules 
that  will  serve  for  guidance  when,  the  general  loca- 
tion and  approximate  acreage  of  the  park  determined, 
its  exact  limits  are  to  be  laid  down. 

In  the  development  of  the  boundary  street,  the 
community  is  under  certain  obligations  to  the  park. 
As  the  park  enhances  the  beauty  of  the  street  by 
securing  for  one  side  of  the  highway  a beautiful  and 
undespoiled  landscape,  so  the  street  should  make 
sure  that  park  views  are,  at  least,  not  ruined  by 
hideous  structures  on  the  thoroughfare  or  at  its  edge. 
It  should  guarantee  that  the  bill-board  will  not  scream 
its  message  across  the  quiet  scene,  and  that  the 
harsh  though  necessary  contrast  of  urban  construc- 
tion will  be  softened  and  made  to  blend  as  far  as 


334 


ITDobeni  Civic  art. 


possible  with  the  park’s  scenery  by  the  half-conceal- 
ing foliage  of  trees.  If  it  be  well  to  put  a street 
popularly  used  as  a park  approach  into  the  hands  of 
the  park  commissioners,  that  it  may  be  suitably 
maintained,  there  would  seem  to  be  equally  good 
reason  for  making  the  like  disposition  of  the  bound- 
ary streets.  The  action  possibly  has  yet  to  be  taken 
for  the  first  time,  but  the  defence  of  park  boundaries 
from  bill-board  attack  has  already  become  fairly 
common  in  American  cities. 

It  ought  now  to  be  clear,  from  considering  park 
requirements,  that  mere  space  alone  will  by  no  means 
satisfy  the  need.  Something  more  than  acres  are 
wanted  for  the  public  reservations  of  town  or  city 
for  the  requirements,  so  many  in  number  and  so 
various  in  kind,  become  explicit  in  their  aggregate. 
Because  this  is  true,  it  is  very  important,  for  the 
securing  of  good  results,  that  the  location  of  the 
parks  should  be  fixed  at  the  earliest  possible  time. 
They  ought  to  be  planned,  indeed,  at  the  start,  with 
the  streets  and  the  squares;  but  unhappily  very  few 
cities  have  been  built  up  from  an  original  ground  plan 
since  people’s  parks  came  to  be  recognised  as  urban 
necessities  rather  than  as  luxuries. 

In  the  old  world  it  has  been  possible  to  make 
good  use  of  many  a royal  pleasure  ground  or  noble- 
man’s estate,  originally  chosen  because  of  the  natural 
beauty  of  the  site;  made  easily  accessible  by  its  long 
years  of  use,  and  now  perhaps  surrounded  by  the 
town;  and  showing  internally  that  beauty  of  de- 


LONDON 


Solid  black  indicates  public  grounds 


Distribution  anb  location  of  parks.  335 


velopment  which  comes  with  centuries  of  loving 
co-operation  between  man  and  nature.  In  the 
moats  that  surrounded  old  city  walls  many  of  these 
towns  have  had,  too,  the  chance  — since  walls  have 
been  tom  down  — of  joining  park  to  park,  and  of 
belting  the  city,  or  its  more  congested  inner  portions, 
with  a circle  of  park  that  is  at  least  impartial  in  the 
distribution  of  pleasure-ground  space.  Except  oc- 
casionally, therefore,  the  park  problems  of  the  cities 
of  Europe  — especially  on  the  Continent  — have  been 
less  pressing  and  less  difficult  than  those  in  America. 
Nor  should  they  ever  in  the  future  be  anywhere  as 
hard  as  in  the  past. 

Now  that  the  necessity  for  parks  is  recognised, 
and  their  distribution,  location,  and  boundaries  are 
perceived  to  be  questions  really  concerned  with  the 
science  of  city-building, — not  merely  a matter  of 
finding  room  and  utilising  any  tract, — the  position  of 
the  parks  should  be  plotted  and  their  sites  secured  as 
speedily  as  possible.  There  should  not  be  delay 
until  money  is  available  to  develop  them.  A public 
reservation  will  serve  the  purpose  that  gives  to  it 
a name  before  it  has  any  “development.”  And 
promptness  in  such  action  will  usually  mean  eco- 
nomy, both  in  the  price  of  the  land,  and  in  the  need 
subsequently  of  having  to  undo  much  less  when  re- 
storing it  to  a condition  that  is  natural  in  suggestion 
if  not  in  fact. 

Secure  at  once  the  most  striking  scenery  of  the 
district,  preserve  as  much  as  possible  of  the  shore 


336 


flfoofcern  Civic  art. 


line  or  watercourse  for  public  enjoyment,  and  then 
supplement  these  holdings  with  areas  so  distributed, 
so  apportioned,  so  extended,  as  best  to  serve  in  the 
total  of  the  system  the  various  park  requirements  of 
the  community.  This,  in  a nutshell,  is  the  course  to 
be  approved. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

PARK  DEVELOPMENT. 

THE  distinction  between  the  location  of  a park 
and  the  park’s  development  is  not  as  that 
between  a street’s  plotting  and  its  surface 
treatment,  its  planting,  etc.  The  street  is  laid 
down  that  it  may  serve  a special  purpose,  and  we 
have  to  do  the  best  we  can  under  circumstances 
that  are  possibly  very  unfavourable.  The  site  of  the 
park  is  chosen  and  its  limits  determined  — in  a 
measure  at  least  — by  the  natural  picture  already  ex- 
istent. The  task  is  not  to  transform  that,  but  to 
preserve  it  and  even  to  emphasise  it.  We  have  the 
lovely  problem  of  making  a grand  or  beautiful  scene 
more  unmistakably  grand  or  beautiful,  so  that  no  one, 
however  dull  or  untrained,  can  fail  to  be  conscious  of 
its  possession  of  the  qualities  of  beauty  or  grandeur, 
or  to  enjoy  them.  As  compared  with  the  embarrass- 
ment in  other  parts  of  the  town,  aestheticism  is  here 
almost  unhampered.  Modern  civic  art,  in  its  most 
charming  development,  here  has  a full  opportunity. 


22 


337 


33» 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


The  larger  opportunity  involves  a greater  obliga- 
tion and  a larger  responsibility.  There  is  need  that 
he  who  directs  the  work  have  at  once  naturally  re- 
fined taste  and  professional  training.  Nor  must  he 
be  an  artist  only,  who  would  preserve  and  dare  to 
emphasise  the  -beauty  of  nature;  he  must  be  the 
lover,  content  to  lose  in  his  work  his  own  identity, 
to  serve  Nature  without  assertion  of  himself,  but 
with  that  love  and  understanding  which  takes  the 
loved  one’s  point  of  view,  apprehending  the  un- 
formed wish,  and  reading  in  the  suggestion  a com- 
mand. Though  this  involve  a long  course  of  action, 
he  will  obey  it  joyfully,  bearing  criticism  with  pa- 
tience, and  he  will  be  undiscouraged  by  the  slow 
process  of  the  years.  His  mind  must  be  on  the  dis- 
tant picture  that  Nature  has  sketched  and  that  he, 
with  her  aid,  shall  finish  — not  to-day,  or  to-morrow, 
but  in  the  years  to  come,  when  at  last  his  lifework, 
in  the  completeness  of  beauty,  shall  stand  for  genera- 
tions. Far  more  than  student,  more  than  artist,  more 
than  blundering  lover,  he  must  be  student,  artist, 
lover,  all  in  one  — united  by  high  consecration.  For 
his  is  “the  most  interesting  of  the  arts;  to  poetry 
and  painting  what  reality  is  to  a description,  what 
the  original  is  to  a copy  and  its  purpose  is  of  the 
purest  and  sweetest. 

The  park  superintendent  and  commissioners 
should  have  had  a voice  in  the  location  of  the 
park,  that  the  district  may  be  adequately  served 


1 Girardin,  1777. 


The  Glen  in  Minnehaha  Park,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 


park  Development. 


339 


and  its  most  distinctive  scenery  secured.  So  the 
canvas  is  stretched,  the  marble  selected,  and  we 
come  — in  the  park’s  development — to  that  fascina- 
ting task,  the  making  of  the  picture. 

It  may  be  well  to  note  at  once  the  restrictions. 
There  are  certain  things  that  must  be  done  to  make 
possible  the  enjoyment  of  the  park  by  large  numbers 
of  people  and  its  necessary  connection  with  the 
city,  that  are  handicaps  to  an  ideal  development 
of  scenery.  They  are  essential,  however,  and 
may  as  well  be  planned  for  at  the  start.  These 
hampering  necessities  include  most  strikingly  the 
roads  and  paths  and  definite  boundaries,  for  the 
few  needed  structures  may  often  be  “planted  out” 
or  may  be  made  even  to  contribute  picturesqueness 
to  the  scene. 

As  to  the  boundaries,  it  has  been  already  sug- 
gested that,  by  putting  them  just  beyond  the  land- 
scape’s natural  frame  and  concealing  them  with  heavy 
planting,  any  appearance  from  the  park  of  a hard  line 
will  be  lost;  indeed,  that  there  may  be  obtained  that 
seeming  indefiniteness  of  extent  which  will  prove  an 
additional  charm  of  the  park  to  city  dwellers.  Where 
there  are  entrances,  however,  it  will  be  advisable  for 
various  reasons  to  mark  distinctly  the  breaks  in  the 
boundary  line.  In  planning  these,  the  greatest  care 
should  be  taken  to  make  their  location  convenient, 
for  just  because  each  entrance  adds  a difficulty  to 
idyllic  treatment,  by  the  formality  which  it  may 
require  and  the  convergence  there  of  roads  and  paths, 


340 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


it  will  not  do  to  multiply  them  indefinitely.  And 
even  in  the  theory  of  country-park  development,  as 
well  as  in  convenience,  there  is  excuse  for  the  con- 
spicuousness of  an  entrance.  The  entrance  to  the 
park  from  the  city  is  also  the  exit  to  the  city  from  the 
park, — the  exit  from  the  natural  into  the  artificial  and 
formal.  It  is  not  improper  that  this  should  be  in- 
dicated to  those  who  are  in  the  park.  On  the  side 
of  the  town,  a stately  and  formal  entrance  is  much 
more  harmonious  — even  consistent  and  appropriate 
— than  would  be  a seemingly  casual  break  in  a nat- 
ural border  of  undergrowth  and  trees.  On  the 
country  side,  the  like  requirement  is  not  as  pressing, 
but  there  is  reason  enough.  Though  the  park  will 
turn  to  the  best  use  it  can  any  peaceful  or  romantic 
views  over  country  not  included  in  the  park  area,  the 
point  of  egress  from  park  to  real  “country”  should 
still  be  definitely  known,  since  there  one  passes  out 
of  the  area  that  is  reserved  for  public  enjoyment  and 
where  the  beauty  of  every  detail  may  be  rightfully 
demanded. 

In  some  cases, very  notably  in  Hyde  Park,  London, 
and  in  Prospect  Park,  in  the  borough  of  Brooklyn, 
New  York,  so  striking  an  architectural  entrance  as 
an  arch  of  commemoration  or  triumph  is  provided. 
Hyde  Park  is  not  really  a country-park.  There  are 
large  trees  and  meadow-like  stretches  of  turf,  but 
there  is  very  little  effort  to  make  the  visitor  forget 
that  a great  city  is  beating  against  the  perfectly  evid- 
ent fence,  and  in  its  broad  and  conspicuous  roads 


park  Development. 


341 


there  is  much  of  formalism.  Prospect  Park  is  country- 
like and  yet  a massive  arch  surmounted  by  a glorious 
quadriga  marks  the  entrance.  On  its  street  side  there 
is  a broad,  paved  plaza  to  which  various  streets  and 
surface  transit  lines  converge.  A plaza  here,  thus 
treated  topographically  as  a focus,  is  an  excellent  ar- 
rangement. It  emphasises  the  importance  of  the 
park  entrance  and  tends  by  increasing  the  park’s 
accessibility — through  the  ease,  convenience,  and 
rapidity  of  its  own  distributing  power  — to  bring  the 
park  nearer  to  the  people. 

In  regard  to  park  roads  and  paths,  it  is  clear  that 
these  are  necessary  for  the  enjoyment  of  the  park  by 
many  persons.  There  are  a few  who  with  delight 
and  profit  might  enter  a pathless  wilderness,  and 
climbing,  wandering,  guideless  there,  would  find  for 
themselves  the  vantage  points,  the  half-hidden  beau- 
ties, and  who  at  their  wish  could  return  with  ease. 
But  there  are  many  who  will  drive,  and  many  who 
will  ride  on  horse  or  bicycle,  and  many  who,  though 
walking,  would  be  lost  without  the  path,  or  unable 
to  discover  or  to  reach  the  view-points  and  secluded 
pictures  without  such  aid  — physical  and  mental. 
For  all  of  these,  and  even  for  the  preservation  of  the 
quiet  beauty  of  the  scene,  in  which  contemplating 
thousands  are  to  be  scattered  inconspicuously  and 
harmlessly,  it  is  necessary  that  there  be  drives  and 
paths.  For  park  development  is  the  most  liberal  of 
arts  and,  as  Wordsworth  says,  no  servant  of  such  an 
art  aims  to  gratify  merely  an  individual  or  class; 


342  flDobeut  Civic  Ert. 

“the  true  servants  of  the  arts  pay  homage  to  the 
human  kind.” 

Not  merely,  then,  to  lead  from  point  to  point 
is  the  duty  of  these  park  paths  and  roads;  but 
to  lead  by  the  most  attractive  way,  to  reveal  as 
many  as  possible  of  the  landscape  beauties,  and  at 
the  same  time  so  to  lead  that  while  every  view  from 
the  way  itself  is  lovely  the  way  shall  be  as  slightly 
noticeable  a feature  of  the  park  as  possible  — almost 
unobserved  until  required,  and  a non-intruding  guide 
to  those  who  use  it  in  solitary  commune  with  na- 
ture. Here  directness  is  not  a factor.  No  one  is  to 
be  in  a hurry  here.  To  soothe  the  spirit  and  calm 
tired  nerves  with  peaceful  outlooks  and  beautiful 
views,  the  roads  and  paths  may  wind  and  turn. 
They  must  be  built  well,  so  that  there  will  be  pleas- 
ure in  the  mere  act  of  travelling,  but  more  import- 
ant than  their  construction  is  their  location.  If  at 
the  beginning  there  be  no  money  with  which  to 
build  elaborate  roads,  yet  their  position  should  at 
once  be  plotted  — they  should  be  placed  where  they 
ought  to  be,  and  improved  subsequently,  as  occasion 
comes. 

Finally,  even  the  trolley  can  be  brought  into  the 
park.  There  has  been  a great  deal  of  hesitation  as 
to  this  point,  and  on  the  whole  it  is  creditable  that 
there  should  have  been,  for  what  more  natural  than 
to  fear  that  admission  of  the  means  of  rapid-transit 
would  destroy  tranquillity  and  conventionalise  the 
park,  and  what  more  commendable  than  to  defend 


fliarfc  ©evelopinent. 


343 


the  tract,  though  at  the  cost  of  public  convenience, 
from  an  intrusion  of  such  effect  ? But  the  narrow 
line  of  rapid-transit  need  do  no  injury.  It  may  be 
fully  screened,  by  grading  and  by  planting,  and  even 
made  by  such  bordering  a way  of  beauty  in  itself. 
This  once  granted,  the  thought  of  the  duty  of  the 
park  to  the  community  — to  woo  to  its  beautiful 
serenity  the  city’s  workers  in  the  greatest  numbers 
possible  — should  carry  a conviction  that  urban 
transit  facilities  need  not  be  halted  at  the  gates. 
They  may  well  be  brought  close  to  park  vantage 
points. 

With  the  borders  arranged,  the  entrances  chosen 
and  marked,  and  the  drives  and  paths  laid  down, 
those  probable  drawbacks  which  are  truly  essential 
are  known,  and  there  remains  the  task  of  extracting 
from  the  scene  the  maximum  of  beauty,  in  com- 
pleteness and  consistency,  that  potentially  may 
linger  there.  And  this  should  amount  to  much, 
especially  if  the  plot  has  been  chosen  because  of  its 
natural  beauty. 

The  unity  will  be  already  existent  to  a consider- 
able extent  in  the  natural  picture  of  the  selected 
tract;  the  harmony  will  be  brought  out  by  the 
breadth  of  the  composition  and  the  naturalness  of 
the  treatment;  the  variety,  in  the  picturesqueness  of 
the  details.  Over  all  will  be  thrown  that  evident 
fitness  to  its  purpose  — here  of  refreshment  to  the 
city-wearied  — that  is  the  final,  all-enveloping  qual- 
ity of  beauty  and  of  art.  There  will  be  frequent 


344 


flftobern  Civic  art. 


necessity  for  regrading.  In  the  treatment  of  the  wafer 
surfaces  and  their  margins,  that  they  may  not  give 
an  air  of  formality  to  a scene  which  is  meant  to  be 
natural,  both  the  taste  and  training  of  the  landscape 
artist  will  be  required.  In  the  planting  there  must 
be  often  clever  exaggeration  of  the  suggestions  of 
Nature,  lest  the  inexperienced  overlook  the  niceness 
and  fineness  of  her  distinctions  and  lose  a charm  of 
the  park.  But  all  these  are  professional  questions. 
They  are  the  local  problems  of  each  separate  country- 
park,  and  are  general  only  in  their  universal  repeti- 
tion in  an  infinite  variety. 

The  great  things  to  be  remembered,  the  thoughts 
that  are  to  solve  these  problems  when  they  arise  and 
that  are  to  determine  each  detail  in  the  work  to  be 
done,  are  two:  first,  that  purpose  of  the  park  which 
may  be  called  psychological,  in  its  proffer  of  refresh- 
ment by  means  of  peace  and  beauty,  that,  “ under 
the  spreading  branches  of  the  trees,  we  may  take 
the  benediction  of  the  air.”  From  this  point  of 
view  the  park,  it  is  suggested,  serves  to  the  modern 
crowded  industrial  city  such  a spiritual  purpose  as 
the  architectural  grandeur  and  loveliness  of  a cathe- 
dral served  to  the  comparatively  rural  population  of 
the  Middle  Ages.  The  park  is  the  cathedral  of  the 
modern  city.  The  second,  the  park’s  purpose  to  pre- 
serve to  the  people,  and  even  to  enhance  for  their 
enjoyment,  types  of  the  existing  natural  beauty  of 
their  neighbourhood. 

From  the  latter  standpoint,  park  commissioners 


ffmrfc  Development 


345 


should  be  considered  as  trustees  of  scenery.  For 
some  of  the  parks  of  cities,  indeed  whenever  a tract 
has  been  selected  especially  on  account  of  its  strik- 
ing beauty,  grandeur,  or  picturesqueness,  they  are 
primarily  this.  And  so  there  enters  into  civic  art, 
into  the  art  even  of  city  beauty,  the  preservation  of 
distinctive  natural  scenery.  This  is  not  incongruous. 
The  purpose  of  municipal  aesthetics  is  simply  to 
bring  into  the  lives  of  the  city-bound  the  greatest 
possible  amount  of  beauty,  to  secure  for  them  the 
beauty  that  should  rightfully  be  theirs,  to  defend 
from  wretchedness  their  homes  and  daily  outlook, 
and  to  make  sure  that  where  there  are  brought  to- 
gether the  greatest  number  of  persons — with  what 
powers  of  enjoyment  and  aggregate  of  sensibility  ! — 
their  higher  cravings  shall  not  be  starved;  but  that, 
rather,  it  shall  be  possible  for  them  to  draw  from 
their  surroundings  the  inspiration  on  which  is 
founded  the  progress  of  the  race.  With  this 
thought,  can  civic  art  afford  to  neglect  whatever 
is  most  noble  or  most  beautiful  in  the  natural 
scenery  of  the  region  in  which  the  town  is  situated  ? 
If  it  has  dared  to  neglect  it  in  other  times,  the  rea- 
son is  the  essential  difference  between  modern  civic 
art  and  any  that  has  gone  before  — the  difference 
between  an  ethical  and  a purely  sensual  stand- 
ard, between  an  art  to  make  men  and  an  art 
man-made. 

Unless  there  be  public  reservations  for  park  pur- 
poses, we  have  to  consider  to  what  an  increasingly 


346 


flDobern  Civic  Hrt 


narrow  and  artificial  life  the  population  of  cities 
would  be  condemned.  The  larger  the  community, 
the  more  completely,  and  for  the  greater  distances, 
will  the  naturally  beautiful  points  of  the  surrounding 
region  be  turned  into  private  grounds,  and  the  more 
impossible  will  it  become  for  the  people  — who  are 
ever  “trespassers  in  the  country” — to  get  close  to 
nature.  But  through  its  means  they  come  to  the 
knowledge  and  so  to  the  love  of  God;  while  with- 
out it  there  is  lost  the  true  sense  of  proportionate 
values,  and  the  temporary  and  human  are  vainglori- 
ously  magnified. 

When  the  popular  function  of  the  park  is  exam- 
ined thus  from  various  standpoints,  there  is  reached 
an  attitude  of  mind  which  makes  it  easy  to  judge 
regarding  certain  more  or  less  incidental  questions  in 
park  development  which  yet  recur  so  frequently  as 
to  be  well-nigh  universal  perplexities.  Such  for  ex- 
ample are  the  buildings  that  are  put  in  parks;  the 
sculpture  that  is  thrust  into  them;  the  efforts  to 
transform  them,  or  parts  of  their  area,  into  zoologi- 
cal or  botanical  gardens;  and  finally, — and  rather  on 
the  other  side  of  the  matter, — the  tendency  to  use 
the  cemetery  as  a public  park,  if  no  distinct  pleasure 
ground  has  been  set  aside. 

Consideration  that  the  park  is  developed  in  the 
natural  style  in  order  that  it  may  present  the  sharp- 
est contrast  to  the  artificiality  of  the  city,  should 
make  it  clear  that  buildings  are  to  be  admitted  to  its 
area  in  only  the  chariest  way.  The  fact  that  the 


fl>arft  Development. 


347 


design  is  to  accommodate  comfortably,  and  for  peri- 
ods of  many  hours,  large  numbers  of  people,  will 
necessitate  some  buildings.  These  may  properly 
include  not  only  shelters  from  the  sudden  storm,  but 
restaurants  where  light  and  inexpensive  refreshments 
can  be  obtained.  We  have,  then,  antithetical  re- 
quirements which  can  be  harmonised  only  by  mak- 
ing the  buildings  as  few  as  possible,  as  inconspicuous 
as  may  be,  and  in  form  picturesque  additions  to  the 
scene.  All  public  institutions  — museums  and  gal- 
leries — should  be  barred  out.  They  have  no  busi- 
ness in  a rural-park;  and  if  they  are  put  there  because 
the  land  costs  nothing,  the  people  pay  more  for  the 
site  — in  the  loss  of  the  ground  occupied  by  the 
structure  and  its  approaches,  in  the  marring  of 
the  landscape  vista  by  the  intrusion  of  formalism 
upon  its  naturalness,  and  in  the  defeat  of  the  park’s 
purpose  in  at  least  the  portion  thus  occupied  — than 
they  would  have  paid  for  a site  on  the  grandest 
avenue.  It  is  a payment,  too,  that  must  be  made 
every  day  and  every  year  in  an  increasing  sum.  If 
the  structures  are  placed  here  that  they  may  have  a 
beautiful  and  advantageous  setting,  their  gain  is  the 
park’s  loss.  We  must  believe  that  in  a wiser  plan- 
ning of  cities  there  would  be  furnished  enough  sites 
of  inherent  dignity,  stateliness,  and  beauty  to  make 
it  possible  to  accommodate  such  buildings  without 
trespassing  on  the  park. 

As  to  statuary,  of  which  the  purpose  must  be 
decorative,  educational,  or  commemorative,  it  is 


348 


HDobcrn  Civic  art. 


difficult  to  understand  how  so  much  was  ever  admit- 
ted to  natural  parks.  The  statue  itself  will  probably 
look  well  with  a green  background  of  soft  foliage, 
but  it  is  so  incongruous  in  a “natural”  scene  that 
only  the  narrowest  artistic  view  could  have  excused 
its  admission.  With  regard  to  the  other  functions 
of  sculpture,  people  do  not  go  to  the  park  to 
think.  Statuary  has  properly,  then,  no  place  in 
rural-parks. 

The  use  of  some  of  the  park  area  for  zoological 
or  botanical  gardens  is  more  easily  understood. 
These  require  large  tracts  of  land ; and  if  the  bo- 
tanical garden  does  not  necessarily  destroy  the 
beauty  of  the  park,  even  replacing  with  some  addi- 
tion of  interest  the  naturalness  that  it  may  endanger, 
the  zoological  garden  — which  is  incompatible  with 
the  maintenance  of  a calm  and  perfect  landscape 
picture  — is  certainly  very  attractive  to  the  people. 
It  will  undoubtedly  draw  to  the  park  many  who 
otherwise  would  seldom  visit  it,  and  it  will  effectu- 
ally refresh  them  with  scenes  unlike  those  of  the 
city.  It  is  even  true,  probably,  that  a majority  of 
the  visitors  to  a large  park  on  a holiday  would  pre- 
fer some  artificial  attraction,  some  positive  amuse- 
ment, to  the  soothing  contemplation  of  lovely 
scenery  — and  here  is  an  amusement  that  at  least 
will  do  them  no  harm.  So  the  gardens  open  a large 
question  — a question  of  circular  railroad  tracks,  of 
whirling  horses,  of  a thousand  artificial  forms  of 
amusement.  There  is  only  one  answer  to  make  — 


ffmrfc  Development. 


349 


the  answer  to  another  question,  “ Is  this  what  the 
country-park  was  made  for;  is  it  for  this  the  striking 
scenery  was  reserved?”  There  is  so  little  beauty  in 
the  zoological  garden,  and  beauty  is  so  incidental  a 
factor  in  the  botanical  garden,  that  civic  art  need  no 
longer  concern  itself  with  them.  But  in  leaving  the 
subject,  it  may  say  that  — from  a sociological,  not  a 
civic-art,  standpoint  — there  might  fittingly  be  pro- 
vided among  the  “parks”  .one  that  should  be 
frankly  a public  pleasure  ground,  with  zoological 
and  botanical  gardens  and  all  the  recreative  gew- 
gaws of  the  hour. 

Finally,  the  community’s  use  of  the  cemetery  as 
a park  is  simply  a pathetic  confession  of  the  public 
need  of  park  reservations.  Speaking  artistically,  the 
cemeteries  have  lately  shown  vast  improvement. 
From  a type  originally  comparable  to  stoneyards, 
they  tend  to  become  more  and  more  park-like.  As 
the  beauty  of  grading  and  planting  increases  and 
monuments  become  less  prominent  features,  the 
effect  is  less  depressing.  It  is  restful  and  like  that 
of  the  park.  We  should  note,  too,  that  in  selecting 
the  site  of  the  “ God’s  acre,”  there  is  likely  to  have 
been  that  reservation  of  particularly  lovely  natural 
scenery  which  is  one  of  the  factors  in  the  park’s 
success.  But  the  great  significance  of  a communi- 
ty’s park-use  of  the  cemetery  is  the  proof  of  the 
need  of  parks.  It  is  a use  to  be  encouraged  and 
approved,  until  the  park  is  provided,  for  all  the 
reasons  for  which  parks  are  approved. 


350 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


A word  should  be  said  as  to  those  reservations 
that  may  be  state  or  national  in  origin,  but  which 
are  municipal  in  the  use  that  an  adjacent  community 
makes  of  them.  It  is  a word  of  explanation.  From 
the  standpoint  of  civic  art,  the  relation  of  such  parks 
to  the  nearest  community  is  the  same  as  the  relation 
of  state  and  national  buildings,  squares,  and  bridges 
to  the  city  in  which  these  happen  to  be  — the 
relation  of  the  Capitol  to  Washington,  of  the  Place 
de  la  Concorde  and  Alexander  111.  Bridge  to  Paris,  or 
of  the  Sieges  Allee  to  Berlin.  Civic  art  asks  no 
question  as  to  origin.  It  is  satisfied  if  the  city  be 
adorned,  be  rendered  more  fitted  to  its  purpose, 
fairer,  more  worthy  of  itself.  In  studying  the  sub- 
ject, these  state-created  ornaments  may  be  valuable 
for  illustrations,  while  of  little  use  as  examples  to 
other  cities  whose  citizens  must  generally  depend 
upon  their  own  resources.  But  in  studying  the 
completed  picture,  instead  of  the  process  of  its  crea- 
tion, they  are  not  to  be  distinguished  as  factors  in  its 
beauty  from  those  that  are  municipally  established. 
All  act  together  to  make  the  city  beautiful. 

There  remains  one  point  to  speak  of  in  regard 
to  park  development.  It  is  the  encouragement  that 
should  be  given  to  the  people  to  visit  the  parks. 
“Democracy,”  says  Walt  Whitman,1  “most  of  all 
affiliates  with  the  open  air,  is  sunny  and  hardy  and 
sane  only  with  nature.”  And  then,  speaking  of 
American  democracy  in  particular,  he  notes  that  this, 


Autobiographia. 


Iparft  Development. 


351 


in  its  myriad  personalities,  in  factories,  workshops,  stores, 
offices,  — through  the  dense  streets  and  houses  of  cities,  and  all 
the  manifold  sophisticated  life,— must  either  be  fibred,  vitalised, 
by  regular  contact  with  outdoor  light  and  air  and  growths,  farm 
scenes,  animals,  fields,  trees,  birds,  sun-warmth,  and  free  skies, 
or  it  will  morbidly  dwindle  and  pale.  We  cannot  have  grand 
races  of  mechanics,  work  people,  and  commonalty  (the  only 
specific  purpose  of  America)  on  any  less  terms.  I conceive  of 
no  flourishing  and  heroic  elements  of  democracy  in  the  United 
States,  or  of  democracy  maintaining  itself  at  all,  without  the 
nature-element  forming  a main  part — to  be  its  health-element 
and  beauty-element. 

And  not  merely  should  there  be  encouragement  to 
go  to  the  park,  but  to  linger  in  it  for  considerable 
periods  at  a time,  that  its  full  beauty  and  influence 
may  be  leisurely  absorbed.  There  is  no  other  way 
to  appreciate  the  park  to  the  full  except  in  leisurely 
fashion.  Its  contrast  to  the  city  in  bestowing  a 
sense  of  repose  is  dependent  on  a willingness  to  take 
time,  on  a feeling  that  haste  and  urgency  do  not 
enter  here.  In  fact,  much  of  the  enjoyment  of  the 
park  is  forbidden  to  those  who  drive  through  it, 
and  the  speeding  bicyclist  has  only  a blurred,  vague 
sense  of  beauty,  as  has  the  motorist. 

So  in  developing  the  park  there  should  be 
frequent  invitation  to  loitering.  There  should  be 
facilities  for  hitching  horses;  attractive  footpaths 
should  lead  enticingly  into  mysteries  of  planting  that 
appeal  resistlessly  to  the  instinct  for  discovery. 
There  should  be  secluded  nooks  and  recesses;  it 
should  be  possible  to  walk  everywhere,  to  lie  upon 
the  grass;  to  drift  all  day  if  one  wishes,  without 


352 


fIDobern  Civic  art. 


additional  expense,  upon  the  sheet  of  water,  or  to 
paddle  beneath  the  mirrored  trees,  and  in  sequestered 
nooks  to  anchor  for  a morning  or  afternoon.  There 
should  be  seats  for  those  who  fear  to  use  the  ground, 
and  everywhere  the  invitation  to  those  idle  day- 
dreams that  may  be  the  most  profitable  dreams  we 
have.  In  the  ground  cover  there  should  hide  the 
sweet  surprise  of  unexpected  flowers,  to  woo  the 
careless  to  a more  thoughtful  study  of  their  surround- 
ings. There  should  be  many  places  where  the  music 
of  rippling  water,  of  singing  birds,  and  of  the  far- 
away laughter  of  little  children  shall  be  so  secure 
from  interruption  by  grosser  sounds  as  to  attract  the 
listener  and  hold  him  with  its  lovely  charm. 

For  all  of  this  there  will  be  need  of  many  little 
shelters  from  the  storm;  of  many  waste  receptacles, 
that  no  untidiness  may  result  from  the  eating  of 
luncheons  out-of-doors;  of  ample  and  convenient 
facilities  for  getting  drinking  water;  and  of,  finally, 
efficient  police  protection.  But  these  things  can  be 
provided  quite  inconspicuously,  so  that  they  shall 
not  be  apparent  but  shall,  in  almost  subconscious 
recognition  of  their  presence,  substantiate  the  allur- 
ing invitation  of  the  park. 

And  its  invitation  should  be  not  that  of  the  sum- 
mer only,  but  of  the  year.  The  beauty  of  the  snowy 
meadows,  the  broadening  of  the  vistas  when  the 
leaves  have  fallen,  the  hide-and-seek  of  the  water  in 
the  half-frozen  brook,  the  dark  tree-trunks  silhouetted 
against  the  snow  and  throwing  blue  shadows  on  the 


ffmrfc  Development. 


353 


white  fields,  the  etching  of  bare  branches  against 
the  sky  — these  are  winter  beauties  of  the  park  that 
should  be  understood.  Then  comes  in  spring  the 
never  tiring  miracle  of  the  awakening  to  life  of  every 
plant  — the  peeping  of  the  flowers  above  the  snow, 
the  bursting  of  the  buds,  the  unfolding  of  little 
leaves,  the  uncurling  ferns,  the  tender  green  that 
spreads  over  hill  and  dale;  and  when  at  last  the 
glory  of  the  summer  wanes,  there  yet  is  gorgeous 
autumn,  with  the  lingering,  wailing  death  of  the 
year,  just  when  it  has  flaunted  most  proudly  its 
splendour  and  the  rich  ripeness  of  its  success.  This 
is  the  annual  story  — even  drama,  of  the  park,  to 
which  the  people  are  to  be  summoned  from  the  city 
streets. 

For  the  park  has  not  a passive,  but  an  active, 
function.  It  is  not  to  stand  aloof,  a treasure  of 
the  city,  beautiful,  still,  reserved.  There  is  nothing 
among  all  the  achievements  of  modern  civic  art  that 
is  created  merely  to  be  looked  at,  and  the  park  is  no 
exception.  It  is,  to  be  sure,  beautiful.  From  the 
standpoint  of  sheer  beauty  there  is  no  other  urban 
possession  comparable  to  this;  but  life  must  pulse 
through  all  of  civic  art.  If  in  any  city  belonging 
there  be  not  intense  human  purpose,  if  it  have  not 
a duty  to  perform,  civic  art  disclaims  it.  So  the 
park,  with  the  warmth  and  strength  of  love, — of 
love  of  all  the  working  world,  of  tender  pity  for  its 
weariness  and  long  restraint, — should  hold  out  its 
arms  to  city  dwellers,  should  invite  them  to  itself, 

23 


354 


fIDobern  Civic  art. 


until  its  naturalness  and  beauty  enter  into  their  lives 
and  become  as  distinct  a part  of  the  city’s  relation  to 
its  citizens  as  are  the  streets  and  squares.  Only 
then  has  the  park  fulfilled  its  mission  as  a phase  of 
modern  civic  art. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

TEMPORARY  AND  OCCASIONAL  DECORATION. 

TO  enter  into  the  life  of  the  people  — this  was  to 
be  the  duty  of  the  park  as  a component  of 
that  modern  civic  art  which  exists  for  the 
people’s  sake.  To  be  itself  a product  of  their  life,  to 
owe  its  very  existence  to  their  emotion,  its  strength 
to  their  fervour, — that  is  the  condition,  even  the 
privilege,  of  temporary  and  occasional  decoration  in 
the  city.  In  the  intimacy  of  this  connection,  there  is 
proved  the  right  of  brief  and  fleeting  decoration  to  be 
included,  for  other  reasons  than  its  spectacular  effect- 
iveness, in  the  discussion  of  civic  art.  It  is  born  of 
the  people’s  emotion.  It  is  the  outward  manifesta- 
tion of  their  sentiment.  As  the  song  in  the  music- 
ian’s heart  leaps  forth  upon  the  keys,  as  the  vision  in 
the  painter’s  soul  is  transcribed  upon  the  canvas,  so 
the  impulse  of  the  people  displays  itself  upon  street 
and  square.  They  are  the  artist,  and  the  decoration 
— refined  or  crude — is  their  handiwork.  The  ropes  of 
laurel,  the  rows  of  snowy  columns,  the  flower-twined 


356 


ADobern  Civic  art. 


masts,  the  fluttering  banners,  the  myriad  lights,  the 
procession  marching  to  the  heart-beats  of  a nation  — 
these  will  be  indeed,  if  rendered  beautiful,  a phase  of 
civic  art.  They  will  be  the  freest,  most  spontaneous, 
of  all  civic-art  expressions. 

To  be  sure  the  decoration  is  transitory.  It  is  as 
short-lived  as  the  beauty  of  the  rose,  as  the  festival 
of  the  stars  in  the  pageant  of  a night.  But  when  we 
read  of  the  urban  glories  of  the  past,  do  we  forget  the 
colour-crowded  streets  of  those  old  towns  of  Burg- 
undy, where  the  fountains  tossed  red  wine  and  white, 
and  where  musicians  played  from  within  a pastry; 
do  we  forget  the  solemn  ecclesiastical  functions  that 
were  wont  to  transform  for  a season  the  warring 
cities  of  Italy;  has  the  stately  Roman  triumph  passed 
out  of  mind;  and  has  the  grace  of  the  Athenian  pro- 
cession been  forgotten?  All  these  were  fleeting;  but 
so  much  were  they  a part  of  the  life  of  their  com- 
munities that  they  are  now  as  inseparable  from  the 
memory  of  the  cities  as  are  the  marble  palaces  that 
would  then  have  seemed  the  more  permanent  phase 
of  civic  art.  It  is  not  the  duration  of  a beautiful  thing, 
but  its  essentialness,  its  intimate  connection  with  the 
thought  and  feeling  — with  the  life  — of  the  people, 
and  hence  its  urban  utility,  that  counts  in  giving  to 
it  a place  in  civic  art. 

The  temporary  and  occasional  decoration,  how- 
ever temporary  and  however  occasional,  is  thus  one 
of  the  opportunities  to  be  availed  of  in  the  building 
of  the  city  beautiful.  There  should,  certainly,  be  no 


temporary  anb  ©ccasional  decoration.  357 

self-consciousness  about  the  impulse.  The  wish  to 
decorate  must  come  from  a full  heart,  spontaneously; 
but  just  as  the  artist,  without  prejudice  to  a later 
inspiration,  will  study  rules  of  art,  so  may  we,  in  the 
tranquil  hours  between  the  great  waves  of  emotion, 
contemplate  those  simple  rules  that  underlie  expres- 
sion and  give  to  it  effectiveness.  For  the  one  pur- 
pose of  expression  is  to  produce  effect.  When  a 
popular  emotion  sweeps  over  a community  and  so 
stirs  it  that  the  very  house-fronts  bear  its  emblems 
and  the  business  streets  lose  their  matter-of-factness- 
in  passionate  portrayal  of  feeling,  then,  with  no  sense 
of  self-consciousness  or  restraint,  there  will  be  ob- 
servance of  such  rules  as  may  be  known  to  increase 
the  effectiveness  of  the  expression.  So  there  will  be 
a fitting  to  purpose,  and  the  requirements  of  civic 
art  will  have  as  usual  utilitarian  as  well  as  aesthetic 
value. 

It  will  be  well  to  examine  first  the  conditions 
that  make  possible  and  even  give  rise  to  temporary 
and  occasional  decoration.  They  are:  (1)  an  emo- 
tion: (2)  an  emotion  so  general  as  to  be  well-nigh 
unanimous. 

The  latter  factor  invites  co-operation.  When  all 
the  residents  on  a block  feel  so  strongly  on  a certain 
subject  that  they  all  wish  on  the  same  day  to  deck 
their  houses  with  flags,  or  to  drape  them  with  the 
emblems  of  sorrow,  why  should  each  one  act  by  him- 
self alone  ? They  choose  the  same  time  for  expressing 
their  sentiment;  they  make  use  of  like  materials  and 


35§ 


ffl>ot>ern  Civic  art. 


methods,  for  the  feeling  is  common;  what,  then, 
could  be  more  awkward,  more  constrained,  and  act- 
ually unnatural,  when  unanimity  of  emotion  tends 
to  draw  men  together,  than  for  each  household  to 
act  by  itself?  And  co-operation,  with  its  induce- 
ment to  harmony  and  unity  in  results,  is  one  of  the 
steps  to  a popular  realisation  of  civic  art. 

Yet  this  has  proved  a most  difficult  thing  to  secure 
in  temporary  decoration.  Until  as  lately  as  Queen 
Victoria’s  “diamond  jubilee,”  there  appeared  to  be 
in  recent  times  no  general  effort  toward  it  or  even  for 
artistic  direction,  as  far  as  the  householders  were 
concerned.  It  has  been  said  that  on  that  occasion 
there  was  literally  not  a street  and  hardly  a house  in 
all  of  vast  London  that  had  not  some  attempt  at 
decoration.  Gilded  lions  and  unicorns,  crowns  of 
imitation  jewels,  the  entwined  letters  V.  R.  and  the 
numerals  of  the  dates,  intricate  illuminations  in  gas 
jets  and  coloured  glass,  rows  of  little  fairy-lamps,  the 
flags  of  the  empire,  were  the  materials,  rich  in  artistic 
possibilities,  that  a prosaic  and  unimaginative  people, 
without  direction  or  co-operation,  transformed  into  a 
confused  and  jumbled  splurge  of  loyalty.  A witness 
of  the  celebration,  who  could  be  perhaps  as  little 
suspected  of  thoughts  of  civic  art  as  any  describer  of 
the  event,  wrote  of  it; 

The  decorations  were  not  beautiful,  and  with  the  exception 
of  those  in  St.  James’s  Street  there  was  no  harmony  of  design  nor 
scheme  of  colour,  and  a great  opportunity  was  lost.  There  was 
probably  no  other  time  when  so  much  money  was  spent  in 


{Temporary  anb  Occasional  ©ecoration.  359 


display  with  results  so  inadequate.  Had  the  government  put  the 
matter  in  the  hands  of  a committee  of  artists,  much  might  have 
been  done  that  would  have  made  the  route  of  the  procession 
a valley  full  of  beauty  and  significance;  but,  as  it  was,  every 
householder  followed  his  own  ideas  and  so,  while  the  loyalty 
displayed  was  quite  evident,  the  taste  was  most  primitive.  It  was 
the  same  sort  of  decoration  that  one  sees  on  a Christmas  tree. 

At  the  time  of  the  reception  to  Admiral  Dewey  in 
New  York,  which  was  only  two  years  later,  the 
National  Society  of  Mural  Painters  devised  a beauti- 
ful scheme  of  house-froht  decoration.  The  society's 
own  efforts  were  confined  to  eight  important  blocks; 
but  it  made  public  its  house-front  suggestions,  urg- 
ing that  on  separate  blocks  of  the  line  of  march  the 
householders  should  co-operate  so  that  results  might 
be  harmonious.  The  requirements  were  simple:  a 
restriction  of  the  mass  of  decoration  to  the  third- 
story  windows;  a use  of  leaves,  flowers,  rugs  or 
tapestries,  and  of  the  colours  of  the  navy  (which 
were  blue  and  white)  with  accents  of  gold,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  national  colours.  An  appeal  was  directed 
to  the  public  spirit  of  the  people;  it  was  suggested 
that  if  there  were  harmony  within  single  blocks  and 
the  third-story  accent  were  adhered  to  generally, 
the  blocks  might  differ  as  much  as  desired;  and  it 
was  perfectly  clear  to  every  one  that  the  suggestions 
were  sensible  and  would  produce  if  carried  out  effects 
much  lovelier  and  much  stronger  than  the  usual 
straggling,  irregular  display  made  up  of  unrelated 
splotches  of  colour.  But  there  was  little  response  to 
the  appeal.  Either  the  public  was  incredulous  as  to 


360 


flDobern  Civic  art. 


the  possibility  of  co-operation,  or  each  household, 
wishing  to  greet  the  hero  with  a triumphant  song 
of  welcome,  preferred  to  sing  its  own  particular  tune 
in  its  own  key  instead  of  uniting  in  a mighty  chorus. 
This  at  least  was  very  much  the  effect,  and  it  meas- 
ures somewhat  more  strikingly  than  did  the  event 
in  London,  since  here  there  had  been  given  a chance 
for  better  things,  the  loss  of  power  through  failure  to 
act  together. 

A few  weeks  afterward,  at  the  Dewey  reception  in 
Boston,  certain  streets  were  assigned  to  different 
artists  and  it  is  said  that  “a  variety  of  colour 
schemes  were  carried  out  with  considerable  success.” 
At  New  Haven,  two  years  later  still,  on  the  occasion 
of  Yale  University’s  bi-centennial  celebration,  a 
scheme  that  had  been  designed  by  a prominent 
decorative  artist1  was  quite  widely  adhered  to.  So, 
as  the  ideals  of  civic  art  reach  farther  and  are  better 
understood,  co-operation  is,  in  fact,  secured  with  in- 
creasing frequency.  The  conditions  in  New  Haven, 
it  may  be  explained,  were  of  a type  very  different 
from  those  in  New  York.  The  streets  were  full  of 
verdure  with  many  and  large  trees,  and  the  houses, 
seldom  exceeding  two  stories  in  height,  had  gardens 
or  lawns  before  them.  There  was  thus  require- 
ment of  an  entirely  new  plan.  The  dominant  feat- 
ures of  this  were  a band  of  green,  to  extend  across 
the  front  of  each  dwelling  just  above  the  first  row  of 
windows.  The  entrance  or  other  conspicuous  point 

1 Louis  C.  Tiffany. 


temporary  anb  Occasional  Decoration.  361 

on  the  house-front  was  emphasised  by  a massing 
of  evergreens,  and  over  these  fluttered  the  flags  of 
the  university. 

Now,  if  the  co-operation  which  should  give  ideal 
results  is  still  secured  with  sad  infrequency,  there 
should  be  recollection  that  modern  civic  art  has 
made  progress  in  an  occasional  taking  of  that  long 
step  which  is  marked  when  artists  are  asked  to 
devise  plans  for  popular  decoration  that  shall  be 
suitable  and  beautiful.  There  is  a bridging  even  of 
centuries  in  this,  to  times  when  the  procession  was 
considered,  as  it  should  never  have  ceased  to  be  con- 
sidered, a work  of  art;  a looking  back  to  such  glorious 
days  for  municipal  aesthetics  as  those  when  Cecca, 
the  gifted  engineer  and  architect,  arranged  the  page- 
ants of  Florence,  and  brought  saints  and  angels  into 
narrow  streets  whence  all  of  sombre  grayness  and 
austerity  had  fled  before  a flood  of  banners,  of  roof- 
ing drapery,  and  gay  carpets. 

The  first  step  is,  obviously,  to  get  the  good, 
artistic,  and  reasonable  plan.  The  next  will  be 
general  adherence  to  it  — and  that  is  co-operation,  if 
not  by  a pleasanter  name  at  least  by  a probably 
easier  route.  The  swift  advance  that  the  last  few 
years  have  witnessed  in  the  control  of  decoration  for 
popular  festivals  — which  is  only  a return,  after  a 
period  of  extravagant  laxity,  to  the  saner  methods 
of  earlier  times  — is  thus  one  of  the  impressive 
evidences  of  a Renaissance  in  civic  art. 

In  considering  a plan  of  decoration,  the  first 


362  flDo&ern  Civic  art. 

question  to  ask  is  the  nature  of  the  emotion.  The 
whole  meaning  of  the  decoration  is  to  express  a 
sentiment,  and  that  sentiment  may  be  one  of  joy, 
pride,  reverence,  or  grief.  This  the  decoration  as 
well  as  the  pageant  must  unmistakably  indicate. 
The  open-air  dancing  in  the  squares  of  Paris  on  the 
night  of  July  14th,  the  fireworks  in  American  cities 
on  the  night  of  July  4th,  the  tossed  confetti  and 
frolic  of  the  masqueraders  in  the  carnival  cities  — 
could  anything  be  more  joyous,  or  more  typical  in 
its  expression  of  joyousness,  than  those  popular 
celebrations  ? The  exuberance  should  be  expressed 
with  equal  clearness  by  the  decoration;  and  when 
the  bands  play  funeral  marches,  and  flags  are  furled, 
and  a slow  and  solemn  tread  takes  the  place  of 
gaiety,  the  change  must  appear  as  surely  in  the 
dressing  of  the  streets  and  house-fronts.  Thus  is 
the  first  question  the  nature  of  the  sentiment.  Its 
framing  is  another  way  of  asking  the  impression 
which  is  to  be  conveyed.  The  latter  query,  how- 
ever, is  broader,  for  sometimes  there  will  be  a desire 
to  make  a show  of  might  or  power  for  reasons  that 
appeal  to  the  intellect  rather  than  to  the  heart.  A 
very  long  procession  of  voters,  for  instance,  may  be 
designed  to  affect  the  onlookers  by  sheer  numbers, 
and  householders,  by  evincing  their  sympathies  in 
decorations,  will  emphasise  or  lessen  the  procession’s 
effect.  The  decorations  would  be  here  traceable, 
indeed,  to  sentiment,  but  they  would  spring  not  so 
much  from  excess  of  that  as  from  a wish  to  impress 


{Temporary  anb  Occasional  Decoration.  363 

which  has  been  formulated  by  reason.  So  we  may 
change  the  form  of  the  first  question  and  make  it, 
“ What  is  the  impression  to  be  conveyed  ? ” 

The  second  question  concerns  the  conditions  un- 
der which  the  display  is  made.  Will  it  be  seen 
mainly  at  night  or  in  the  daytime,  on  land  or  on 
water,  in  a region  of  sunshine  and  abundant  flowers, 
or  where  storms  are  so  frequent  that  stands  must  be 
designed  with  roofs  and  where  it  is  not  safe  to  plan 
the  exposure  of  rich  stuffs  ? This  question,  if  not  as 
unescapable  as  the  first,  may  affect  the  result  as 
keenly,  and  it  shows  the  utter  futility  of  attempting 
to  frame  rules  for  occasional  decoration  that  will 
apply  generally. 

Yet,  out  of  even  the  few  examples  already  noted, 
there  are  lessons  to  be  drawn  for  the  householders. 
The  importance  of  co-operation  has  been  observed, 
to  the  end  that  in  the  decoration  of  a city  there  shall 
be  adopted  a civic  unit  — which  is  to  say,  a street 
or  block  — and  not  the  false  or  irrelevant  unit  of  the 
individual.  There  has  appeared  the  artistic  neces- 
sity of  harmony  and  even  of  evidence  of  a sub- 
stantial unanimity  — philosophically  justified  by  the 
thought  that  the  display  is  one  united  people's  ex- 
pression of  a common  feeling.  This  has  been  the 
motive,  indeed,  for  the  co-operation.  To  give  this 
appearance  of  an  underlying  connecting  unity,  there 
has  been  seen  the  value  of  establishing  a definite 
accent.  This,  by  sameness  of  colour  and  position, 
will  join  all  parts  of  the  display,  however  much 


364 


fil>obern  Civic  art. 


these  differ  in  harmonious  detail.  The  householder 
has  thus  secured,  after  all,  a good  deal  of  helpful 
suggestion  from  the  examples,  for  he  necessarily 
started  with  the  two  main  questions  answered:  the 
impression  to  be  conveyed,  and  the  conditions  under 
which  the  display  is  made. 

The  conditions  will  be  a very  important  factor. 
Examples  may  be  noted.  When  Cecca  planned 
the  street  decorations  and  pageants  of  Florence,  he 
had  little  need  to  fear  storm;  but  he  had  to  consider 
the  pitiless  heat  of  the  sun  that  would  beat  upon 
spectators  and  actors,  once  the  narrow  streets  were 
left  and  the  broad,  shadeless  plaza  had  been  entered. 
We  read,  then,  that  the  whole  Piazza  del  Duomo  was 
roofed  with  a cool  blue  drapery  on  which  were 
stitched  coats  of  arms  and  golden  lilies.  Its  fitness 
and  utility  formed  one  of  the  beauties  of  the  decora- 
tion. For  the  inaugural  celebration  in  Washington 
in  1 90 1 , — probably,  and  significantly,  the  First  at 
which  there  was  a serious  attempt  to  obtain  a gen- 
eral effect  in  the  street  decorations  that  should  be 
harmonious  and  beautiful, — it  was  necessary  to  pro- 
vide many  stands  and  to  roof  them,  lest  the  weather 
be  inclement.  Their  designing  was  given  to  archi- 
tects instead  of  to  carpenters,  and  the  very  pillars 
that  supported  their  roofs  and  the  roofs  themselves 
became  decorative  features.  A group  of  these  stands 
or  pavilions,  symmetrically  arranged,  uniform  in  size, 
attractively  finished  in  front,  painted  white  and  decor- 
ated with  vines,  transformed  a bit  of  street  as  effect- 


{Temporary  anb  Occasional  Decoration.  365 

ively  as  had  the  Florentine’s  cloth  sky,  and  for  very 
much  the  same  reason  its  beauty  gave  an  intel- 
lectual pleasure. 

In  Venice  any  strictly  popular  festival  must  take 
place  on  water,  and  the  wedding  of  the  city  to  the 
Adriatic,  in  the  republic’s  proudest  days,  became 
probably  the  most  well-known  of  all  her  fetes;  but 
in  modern  times,  when  the  picturesqueness  and  ro- 
mance of  the  city  show  best  at  night  as  kindly  shad- 
ows aid  the  imagination,  Venice,  still  making  use  of 
the  water,  decks  herself  for  strangers  after  the  sun 
has  set.  Then  from  the  towers  and  domes  of  her 
countless  churches,  from  the  balconies  of  her  pal- 
aces whence  their  number  is  doubled  by  the  mirror- 
ing canals,  glow  the  lights  that  transform  her  from  a 
city  of  memories  to  one  of  dreams.  This  illumination 
is  possibly  the  briefest  of  all  modern  civic  decora- 
tions, but  while  it  lasts  a song  comes  over  the  water 
to  lull  you  to  sleep,  that  you  may  not  know  when  it 
disappears.  There  is  reason  back  of  this,  and  to 
the  abundant  loveliness  of  the  scene  there  is  cleverly 
added  that  element  of  attractiveness  which  is  in  the 
unattainable  and  the  pathetic. 

The  Van  Dyck  celebration  in  Antwerp,  in  1899, 
was  organised  by  the  artists  of  the  city.  It  took 
place  before  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  in  that  Grande  Place 
that  scarcely  needed  extra  decorations  to  frame 
worthily  a Mediaeval  pageant.  For,  in  a late  year  of 
the  nineteenth  century,  the  festival  was  Mediaeval,  be- 
cause its  subject  was  of  that  time.  In  the  procession 


366 


f0>obern  Civic  art. 


marched  the  nations  and  the  arts  — the  Gothic  a 
joyous  group  singing  a hymn.  Then  there  were 
floats  showing  the  Dutch  artists  and  the  subjects  of 
Van  Dyck’s  paintings,  and  finally  the  representation 
of  Van  Dyck  himself,  with  the  cities  London,  Genoa, 
Venice,  Rome,  Paris,  Vienna,  Munich,  Dresden,  The 
Hague,  and  Antwerp  grouped  around  him  in  admira- 
tion. There  was  an  address  by  a cardinal  in  scarlet, 
and  just  after  him  came  his  monseigneurs  in  blue 
silk,  while  the  burgomaster  might  himself  have 
stepped  from  a Van  Dyck  portrait.  There  was  his- 
torical appropriateness  in  this  celebration. 

The  carnivals,  be  they  in  Rome  or  New  Orleans, 
are  rather  great  urban  frolics  than  examples  of  civic 
decoration;  and  the  beautiful  festivals  of  flowers,  be 
they  in  sunny  California  or  on  the  shores  of  the 
Mediterranean,  are  the  festivals  of  little  towns  — 
the  floriculturists’  harvest  home  — rather  than  the 
pageants  of  cities.  But  they  have,  with  the  carni- 
vals, this  significance:  they  are  natural  and  there- 
fore distinctive,  as  distinctive  as  the  old  Venetian 
celebration  of  the  wedding  of  the  sea.  And  the 
factors  that  go  to  make  them  a success,  human  light- 
heartedness and  abundant  flowers,  are  found  at  hand. 
In  their  way  they  are  thus  as  significant  in  their  ex- 
pression as  the  stately  Roman  triumph  of  a Caesar,  or 
the  Labour  Day  procession  of  a modern  industrial 
town.  Thus  the  influencing  conditions  are  not 
climatic  alone,  nor  merely  natural ; but  tempera- 
mental, economic,  and  perhaps  historical. 


Broad  Street,  Philadelphia,  Temporarily  Transformed  into  a “ Court  of  Honour”  for' a Pageant. 


Hemporar?  anb  (Occasional  Decoration.  367 

When  there  is  to  be  a civic  pageant  of  such  im- 
portance as  to  suggest  a general  dressing  of  houses, 
there  is  nearly  always  a demand  that  the  occasion  be 
made  a holiday,  to  the  end  that  the  almost  ceaseless 
labour  of  the  town  shall  be  for  the  time  suspended. 
As  a matter  of  theory,  there  is  much  to  recommend 
the  fixing  of  urban  celebrations  for  the  night.  There 
will  then  be  little  disturbance  of  work,  the  streets 
are  clear,  and,  as  in  Venice,  only  that  need  be  illumin- 
ated which  will  add  to  the  beauty  and  appropriate 
effectiveness  of  the  scene,  while  there  is  much  of 
picturesqueness  and  decoration  in  the  very  lights 
themselves.  But  taking  the  city  as  a whole,  the  end 
of  a day  means  weariness  and  rest  appeals  more  than 
even  play.  The  recent  appearance  of  illuminated 
“ courts-of-honour,”  that  are  simply  business  streets 
transformed  in  the  evening,  does  not  probably  indi- 
cate, therefore,  that  because  of  our  better  control  of 
lights  and  increased  lighting  facilities  we  are  to  turn 
our  urban  pageants  into  evening  festivals.  No  civic 
celebration  can  be  a really  splendid  and  popular  suc- 
cess for  which  the  occasion  has  not  been  made  a 
holiday. 

To  the  consideration,  then,  of  the  householders’ 
part  in  the  city  festivals, — even  regarding  these  in  an 
abstraction  which  is  discouraging  to  definite  conclu- 
sion, where  the  cases  to  be  treated  are  so  many  and 
varied, — there  have  now  appeared  from  the  selected 
typical  examples  some  further  suggestions  of  value. 
Not  only  should  there  be  co-operation,  in  the 


368 


flDo&ern  Civic  art. 


common  expression  at  one  time  of  a common  senti- 
ment; not  only  must  that  expression  precisely  tit  the 
sentiment;  and  not  only  may  the  co-operation  be- 
tween the  householders  manifest  itself  with  best  ar- 
tistic results  in  the  establishment  of  a uniform  accent 
in  the  decorations,  and  the  maintenance  of  civic 
units,  but  the  manner  of  the  celebration  should  be: 
distinctive;  suited  to  time  and  to  various  local  con- 
ditions; in  its  larger  aspects  not  decorative  merely 
but  reasonable,  and  it  may  even  be  with  an  underlying 
utility  — f.  0.,  the  selection  for  decoration  of  that 
which  is  necessary  or  convenient  for  the  pageant. 
In  addition,  it  should  set  before  the  people  an  idea!  of 
beauty  or  picturesqueness  that  is  locally  pertinent, 
however  unattainable;  and  the  occasion  should  be 
made  a holiday. 

Do  these  conclusions  seem  trite  ? They  tend 
to  the  following  suggestions  that  certainly  are  not 
familiar  in  the  observance:  they  suggest  that  in  the 
decoration  of  the  structures  of  a town  the  national 
colours  are  not  always  pertinent.  The  adoption  of 
a city  flag,  a city  colour,  or  a city  emblem, — not 
necessarily  more  elaborate  than  the  Venetian  lion  of 
St.  Mark’s  or  the  lily  of  Florence,  — that  can  be  used 
on  many  strictly  local  occasions  would  be  far  better. 
Patriotism  is  good,  but  in  hardly  one  festival  in  a 
year  does  the  show  of  it  express  accurately  the 
festival’s  sentiment.  They  suggest  that  for  towns 
so  situated  as  to  have  a body  of  water  as  the  leading 
highway,  there  should  be  no  conventional  cramping 


{Temporary  ant*  Occasional  Decoration.  369 

of  the  pageant  into  city  streets,  it  should  be  put 
upon  the  water.  This  will  nearly  always  mean  a 
gain  in  picturesqueness  and  in  the  provision  for 
spectators.  It  will  mean,  besides,  adaptation  to 
local  natural  conditions  and  thus  distinctiveness. 
The  conclusions  suggest,  further,  that  there  should 
not  be  the  incongruity  of  elaborately  decorated 
buildings,  with  rude  and  undressed  stands  before 
them.  The  stands,  as'  a necessary  adjunct  to  the 
pageant,  should  be  made  a dominant  motif  in  the 
decoration.  And  they  suggest  that  the  household- 
ers instead  of  acting  individually,  each  trying  to 
make  the  greatest  splurge,  should  relinquish  the 
advertisement  point  of  view  and  should  adopt  the 
really  decorative,  to  the  end  that  on  a block  or 
street  they  should  act  in  harmony  to  give  to  that 
space  the  beauty  which  perhaps  they  may  not  hope 
to  see  in  permanent  results,  but  of  which  they 
happily  may  dream. 

As  to  the  pageant  itself,  there  are  not  many 
kinds  of  play.  Play  is  real  life  in  counterfeit,  with 
a veiling  of  the  serious.  We  march  in  procession  to 
play  at  war  — in  a light-heartedness  that  restores  to 
the  race  its  boyhood;  we  dance,  and  so  return 
to  the  old  “ leap  ” of  earliest  Latium  and  Hellas;  we 
masquerade,  and  feel  the  kinship  of  the  earliest  peo- 
ples when  in  the  skins  of  goats  and  sheep  they 
also  “ played  ”;  we  make  music,  and  in  our  melody 
there  is  an  echo  of  the  pipe  of  the  herdsman  on 
mountain  side  or  starlit  plain  before  any  cities  were. 


3/0 


flDobern  Civic  Hrt. 


From  these  universal,  simple,  time-worn  elements, 
to  devise  the  distinctive,  expressive,  beautiful,  may 
well  demand  the  genius  of  the  artist.  The  picture 
that  he  evolves  — the  visible  song  or  poem  perhaps 
more  properly,  so  definitely  and  yet  so  briefly  does 
it  speak  — is  with  accuracy  to  be  considered  only  as 
a work  of  art.  He  will  do  much  by  combination. 
We  march  or  dance  as  we  masquerade;  and  we 
would  do  well  to  sing  as  we  march. 

Inevitably,  as  there  is  grasped  this  higher  con- 
ception of  the  possibilities  of  the  civic  festival,  there 
will  be  felt  the  need  of  making  decoration  and 
pageant  complementary,  that  each  may  supplement 
the  other.  The  municipality,  festooning  laurel  or 
flowers  from  upright  to  upright,  or  setting  Venetian 
masts,  flower-garlanded,  banner-tipped,  or  martial 
with  arms  and  shields,  along  the  way,  has  an  op- 
portunity as  conspicuous  as  that  of  the  individual 
householders  greatly  to  emphasise  the  expression  of 
the  formal  spectacle.  When  in  New  York,  for  in- 
stance, the  artists  combined  to  erect  the  Dewey  arch 
of  triumph,  with  its  victory-crowned  and  laurel-hung 
approaches,  they  gave  to  the  parade  at  that  particular 
point  an  added  expression  such  that  the  ovation 
seemed  to  culminate  in  the  arch. 

It  is  noteworthy  that  there  was  a co-operation  of 
artists  in  this  work.  There  are  times  when  a work 
of  art  is  to  be  born  of  the  dream  of  a single  artist, 
lest  a composite  product  show  self-consciousness. 
But  in  devising  an  expression  of  popular  sentiment, 


{Temporary  artb  ©ccasional  Decoration.  371 

as  we  must  do  in  occasional  decorations,  it  were  well 
for  artists  to  combine  that  they  may  represent  more 
accurately  the  various  shades  of  emotion  of  which 
the  aggregate  alone  constitutes  popular  sentiment. 
This  is  an  idea  almost  as  new  to-day  as  is  modern 
civic  art  itself.  But  we  may  observe  its  growing 
power  in  that  artistic  progress  which  marks  the 
greater  public  festivals  of  America,  for  it  has  been 
recently  applied  with  increasing  confidence  and  com- 
pleteness: first,  the  Centennial  in  Philadelphia;  sec- 
ond, the  Columbian  Exposition  in  Chicago;  third, 
the  Congressional,  or  National,  Library  in  Washing- 
ton— not,  indeed  a “festival,  ” but  as  strictly  public 
art  and  to  almost  a like  extent  an  expression  of  popu- 
lar sentiment;  fourth,  the  Dewey  Arch  in  New  York.1 
This  idea,  though  it  seem  new  to-day,  had  its  test- 
ing centuries  ago,  in  the  co-operation  which  made  the 
artistic  guilds  of  the  Middle  Ages  so  notably  success- 
ful, and  in  the  cathedrals  that  were  building  through 
generations.  The  test  has  served  again  in  modern 
times.  Almost  the  only  feature  now  remembered 
of  the  Dewey  celebration  is  this  work  which  the 
artists  did  together;  and  of  the  Columbian  Exposi- 
tion, the  exhibits  drop  out  of  mind  while  there 
lingers,  as  strong  as  ever,  the  vision  of  the  harmo- 
niously grouped  and  proportioned  buildings.  A 
“ dream  city  ” men  called  it  then;  but  the  dream  has 
outlived  all  else. 

1 These  “steps  of  progress”  are  borrowed  from  an  article  in  The  International 
Monthly , January,  1900,  by  Charles  DeKay,  in  a discussion  of  “ Organization  among 
American  Artists,” 


372 


fIDobern  Civic  art. 


When  the  Dewey  Arch  had  served  its  purpose, 
there  arose  a demand  that  it  be  made  permanent. 
There  was  recognition  that  in  its  hasty  sculpture 
much  might  be  improved;  but  the  demand  for  a 
naval  arch  of  generally  similar  character  became 
insistent  and  clamorous.  It  was  not  quite  strong 
enough,  however,  to  raise  the  vast  sum  of  money 
that  was  required,  and  the  project  failed.  A few 
years  earlier  a like  demand,  for  the  perpetuation  in 
marble  of  a temporary  arch  that  had  been  erected  as 
a feature  of  the  decoration  for  the  Washington  cen- 
tennial in  New  York,  succeeded.  This  stands  to-day 
as  one  of  the  public  art  treasures  of  the  city;  and 
there  is  shown  the  practical  advantage  of  having 
the  decoration,  though  it  be  ever  so  temporary  and 
occasional,  set  an  ideal  before  the  people. 

But  in  the  planning  of  the  city’s  festivals  these 
ulterior  and  very  conscientious  purposes  are  not  to 
hide  the  real  object,  which  is  pre-eminently  and 
necessarily  temporary.  The  festival’s  whole  excuse 
for  being  is  in  the  occasion  which  it  expresses. 
And  further  than  that  it  tends  to  become,  in  a world 
that  is  ever  working  harder,  the  one  really  public 
recreation.  In  England  and  America,  without  free 
theatres,  and  where  people  do  not  play  without 
excuse,  this  is  now  virtually  the  case.  The  park, 
in  offering  quiet  and  rest,  invites  to  a negative 
method  of  recreation;  there  is  only  the  festival,  the 
celebration  of  one  kind  or  another,  to  urge  to 
positive,  active  recreation.  What  this  may  mean 


©emporan?  anb  ©ccasional  ©ecoratioit.  373 

with  its  sudden  relative  freedom,  its  exceptional 
colour  and  gaiety,  to  lonely  foreigners  and  especially 
to  those  who  come  from  the  south  of  Europe,  can- 
not be  readily  imagined.  These  are  not  always 
fitted  to  gain  from  the  quiet  beauty  of  the  park  that 
tranquil  pleasure  which  the  park  is  designed  to  give, 
or  if  gaining  this  to  find  in  it  complete  satisfaction. 
Thus  the  recreative  element  in  the  temporary  enter- 
tainments is  never  to  be  lost  sight  of.  Furthermore 
these,  as  the  only  really  civic,  in  the  sense  of  public, 
occasions,  and  as  events  that  have  also  a larger  and 
deeper  pertinence  than  the  pleasure  of  an  idle  hour, 
may  well  demand  that  the  municipality  throw  itself 
with  enthusiasm  into  their  planning.  The  city 
should  regard  them  with  a seriousness  that  they 
seldom  have  in  these  days  that  are  so  fearful  of 
frivolity.  It  should  resolve  to  make  of  them  the 
utmost  possible,  to  secure  in  pageant  and  decoration 
the  most  beautiful  effects,  and  so  to  impart  by  their 
means  popular  lessons  in  art  — lessons  that  will  be 
the  better  learned  because  loved. 

Incidentally,  it  is  no  secret  that  a beautiful  cele- 
bration is  good  “business.”  The  best  economy  is 
to  add  to  the  appropriation  that  will  create  an 
ordinary  spectacle  a sum  that  will  make  it  extra- 
ordinary in  its  beauty  and  attractiveness.  There  are 
too  many  examples  of  this,  and  the  principle  is  too 
well  understood,  to  need  elaboration  or  explaining. 
It  is  known,  too,  that  decoration  “ pays  ” in  a 
modest  way,  even  when  it  is  not  very  artistic  or 


374 


flDobent  Civic  act. 


very  pretentious.  On  the  several  occasions  when 
there  has  been,  for  some  special  reason,  a brilliant 
illumination  of  a few  blocks  of  business  street  Of 
their  transformation  into  a “ Court  of  Honour, ’’there 
has  followed  with  perhaps  not  a single  exception  a 
request  by  the  merchants  that  the  decoration  or 
lighting  be  continued  beyond  its  appropriate  time, 
so  beneficial  has  proved  its  effect  on  business.  A 
few  weeks  before  this  was  written,  a street-improve- 
ment club  of  San  Francisco  decorated  the  thorough- 
fare which  they  had  made  their  special  charge  with 
greens  for  the  holidays.  The  ugly  trolley  poles 
were  hidden  with  evergreen;  festoons  of  it  were 
draped  from  pole  to  pole,  and  an  arch  of  boughs 
spanned  the  sidewalk  where  a rubbish  chute  de- 
scended from  a building  that  was  being  remodelled. 
It  was  not  a very  impressive  effort;  little  money 
was  expended;  there  was  simply  a co-operative  and 
harmonious  utilisation  of  the  means  at  hand.  But 
the  Christmas  spirit  so  entered  into  this  street  that 
the  shoppers  thronged  it  and  the  enterprise  “ paid  ” 
abundantly. 

In  another,  and  somewhat  smaller,  city  a resid- 
ential street  about  a half-dozen  blocks  in  length 
has  a middle  strip  of  turf  on  which  are  planted 
magnolias  at  regular  intervals.  The  trees  have  at- 
tained large  size  and  are  healthy,  so  that  when  they 
are  in  bloom  the  street  is  one  of  “ the  sights  ” of  the 
town.  It  is  now  proposed  by  the  residents  to  cele- 
brate annually  among  themselves  magnolia-blossom- 


Hemporar?  anb  ©ccasional  Decoration.  375 

ing  day.  In  this  suggestion  civic  art  finds  strong 
appeal;  in  pertinence,  distinctiveness,  and  pictu- 
resqueness, it  is  worthy  of  the  best  traditions  of  civic 
art’s  concern  with  the  temporary  and  occasional. 

And  how  near  this  is,  how  eagerly  it  embraces 
the  opportunity  for  including  the  frankly  artistic  and 
decorative  in  a city’s  aspect  and  for  bringing  into 
the  city’s  life  the  playfulness,  gaiety,  joy,  of  art, 
is  so  obvious  as  to  appear  without  the  need  of 
reflection.  We  have  only  to  learn  that  we  should 
embrace  this  opportunity  with  a seriousness  and 
earnestness  that  would  see  in  it  not  the  temporary 
only,  but  the  abiding;  not  alone  the  briefly  smiling 
faces,  the  clapping  hands,  the  idle  jesting  of  a 
crowd,  but  also  the  satisfaction  of  the  primal  yearn- 
ings of  humanity,  the  brightening  of  many  lives,  the 
most  effective  mode  of  popular  education.  We  should 
consider  the  temporary  and  occasional  decoration  an 
art  opportunity  and  an  art  problem,  and  as  such 
should  study  it  and  apply  to  it  art  principles. 

Into  this,  the  most  transitory  phase  of  civic  art, 
there  should,  then,  go  the  high-minded  earnestness 
that  properly  belongs  to  the  whole  great  effort.  The 
total  of  that  may  be  now  defined  : it  is  the  adjust- 
ment of  the  city  to  its  city  needs  so  fittingly  that  life 
will  be  made  easier  for  a vast  and  growing  portion  of 
mankind,  and  the  bringing  into  it  of  that  beauty 
which  is  the  continual  need  and  rightful  heritage  of 
men  and  which  has  been  their  persistent  dream. 


INDEX. 


A 

Administration,  21-23 
Advertisements,  an  evil,  42,  156;  neces- 
sary, 151;  night,  146,  158;  on  side- 
walks, 154-156,  163;  possibility  of 
beauty  in,  152,  157-160;  projecting, 
153;  see  also  Advertisement  pillars, 
Banners,  Bill-boards,  Signs 
Advertisement  pillars,  150,  155,  163 
Alameda,  217,  220 
Alexandria,  212 
Algiers,  49,  232 
Amsterdam,  50 

Anatomy  or  physiology  of  cities,  29,  85 
Antioch,  233 

Antwerp,  49,  98,  159,  365 
Arch,  226;  Dewey,  371,  372;  of  Tri- 
umph, 112,  1 1 5,  226,  340;  Washing- 
ton, 226 

Architects,  273;  inspiration  to,  36,  1 34— 
137;  opportunities  of,  48,  61,  65, 
284;  quoted,  83,  92,  133,  283;  see 
also  Landscape  architects 
Architecture,  a first  step,  18,  20,  272; 
characteristics  of  modern,  124,  127, 
132;  historical,  130;  increasing  effect- 
iveness, 55,  83,  92,  96,  1 12,  128-130, 
131-134,  171,  293-295;  lessening  ef- 
fectiveness, 87,  96,  128;  opportunities 
of,  61,  63,  134-137;  restrictions  on, 
96,  113,  123,  125-128,  282,  283,  286 
Arms  of  city,  see  Crest 
Art,  25,  31,  39,  192;  see  also  Civic  art 
Art  commission,  22,  173,  175 
Athens,  13,  27,  98,  179,  212,  356 

B 

Babylon,  13,  27 

Back  yard,  238,  240,  241,  262 

Bacon,  272 

Baltimore,  272,  302,  303 


Balustrades,  76,  92 
Band-stand,  263,  265,  266 
Banners  across  the  street,  156 
Baxter,  Sylvester,  2 1 3 
Bayet,  1 1 

Berlin,  105,  116,  232,  302;  advertising 
in,  162;  bridges,  56;  Sieges  Allee, 
179,  1 8 1 ; Unter  den  Linden,  17^226 
Bern,  62  note 
Bethnal  Green,  265. 

Bill-boards,  161,  221,  333,  334 
Bill  posting  on  trees,  2 1 9 
Birmingham,  84,  201 
Bordeaux,  49 

Boston,  41,  51,  70,  71,  172,  199,209, 
272,  27;,  305,  360;  building  regula- 
tions, 96,  127,  128;  Commonwealth 
Avenue,  199,  201,  309;  Copley 

Square,  96,  127,  300;  Fens,  310,  314 
note;  suburbs  of,  41,  66,  74,  201 
Botanical  gardens,  348 
Boulevards,  199,  200,  207,  217,  220,  307 
Bourne ville  Village  Trust,  253  note 
Bridge  over  stream,  52-55,  114,  117, 
176,  177;  over  street,  78-80,  114; 
see  also  Viaduct 

British  Garden  City  Association,  251 
Brooklyn,  235,  340,  341 
Bruges,  2 1 2 

Brussels,  112,  113,  142,  159,  200 
Budapest,  50,  56,  98 
Building  height,  87,  96,  113,  124-129, 
282 

Building  regulations,  96,  113,  123,  126, 
*27,  333 

Buildings,  117,  132-137,  215,  346,  347; 

see  also  Public  buildings 
Burgundy,  356 

c 

Cambridge,  278 
Carthage,  13,  212 


377 


378 


Anker. 


Cecca,  361,  364 
Cemetery,  292  note,  349 
Centennial,  371 

Chicago,  95,  98,  115,  146,  20i,  264, 
275,  277,  324 
Churches,  278 
Circulation,  29,  30,  32,  85 
City  beautiful,  27 
City  of  Mexico,  225 

Civic  art,  ib6,  173,  192,  226,  228,  264, 
37s;  aims  of,  28,  30,  58,  152,  246, 
247,  251,  265,  267,  305,  345,  353; 
defining,  24-28,  375;  former,  27,  32, 

173,  226,  267,  345;  obligations,  80, 
165,  192,  205,  229,  230;  opportuni- 
ties, 137,  152,  157,  1 79,  267,  325; 
test  of,  31,  39,  356;  triumphs  of,  27, 
98,  356,  361 

Cleveland,  98,  146,  199 
Clock  on  street,  148,  154  note 
Cologne,  66,  74-76 

“ Colonies  ” of  foreigners  in  cities,  200- 
262 

Colour,  use  of,  in  decorations,  359-361, 
363,  368 

Columbian  Exposition,  95,  179,  275, 
280,  371 

Comprehensive  planning,  31-36,  114, 

174,  271-286,  291,  334,  335 
Co-operation,  ! 6,  357-361,  363,  369, 

37' 

Court  of  Honour,”  95,  146,  367,  374 
Crest  of  city,  164,  261 
Curved  street,  see  Street  plan 

D 

Dalny,  115,  116 

Decoration,  see  Street  decoration 
De  Kay,  Charles,  37!  note 
Detroit,  253  note 
Diagonal  streets,  see  Street  plan 
Dresden,  56 

Drives,  45,  51,  see  also  Parkway  and 
Speedway 
Duluth,  317 

E 

Edgbaston,  201 
Eliot,  Charles,  321,  328 
Emerson,  265 
Engineer,  1 77,  204 
Engineering,  12,  50 
Essen,  253  note 
Exedra,  225 

Expert  advice,  16,  21,31-36,  *72,  174, 

175,  280-282,  326,  361,  370 
Extension  of  boundaries,  60 


F 

Fences,  161,  236,  238 
Flag,  city,  368 
Flagstaffs,  214 

Florence,  40,  50,  98,  139,  17s,  200,212, 
221,  361,  364,  368 

Flowers,  in  house-grounds,  235;  see  also 
House-grounds;  in  open  spaces,  69, 
70,  74,  263,  265,  299,  303;  in  streets, 
2'9,  243 

Forester,  219,  233 

Fountains,  167,  169-171,  225,  287,  296, 
303,  336 

G 

Gardens,  see  House-grounds  and  School 
gardens 

Genoa,  49,  66,  67-69 

German  municipal  government,  22 

Ghent,  212 

Girardin,  338  note 

Grade,  advantages  of,  76,  92,  195 

Grade  crossings,  77,  78 

Grass,  see  Turf 

Graveyard,  292  note 

Growth  of  cities,  14,  17-21,  60 

H 

Hamburg,  49,  66,  70 
Harrison,  Frederic,  91 
Hedge,  238 

Historic  interest,  preservation  of,  130 
House-grounds,  222,  223,  230,  231,  234- 
240,  244,  274;  see  also  Back  yard 
Housing  the  poor,  247,  257-259 
Hygiene,  29,  30,  32,  50 

I 

Improvement  societies,  20,  237 
Institutions,  placing  and  development  of, 
271,  274-280,  284,  286,  347 
Iowa,  law  of,  51 
“ Iron  age,”  20 
Isle  of  safety,  147,  148 

L 

Landscape  architect,  36,  48,  81 , 204, 
338 

Landscape  gardening,  338;  on  house- 
grounds,  237-240;  on  open  spaces, 
56,  299-301;  in  parks,  56,  322,  324, 
327,  328,  330,  343-344;  by  railroads, 
66,  74,  78;  see  also  Parking 
Libraries,  278,  283,  284 


Intel 


379 


Lighting,  367;  of  squares,  141-143,  167, 
172,  265,  294;  of  streets,  139-147, 
148,  150,  154  note,  237;  rendering 
apparatus  beautiful,  141-144,  162, 

172,  214,  215 

Lights  of  city,  39,  40,  144-146 
L’CEuvre  Nationale  Beige,  113,  142,  159 
London,  41,  54,  66,  91,  103,  157,  218, 
235,  260,  272,  292  note,  358;  County 
Council,  109,  119,  120,  127,  130; 
Embankment,  50,  56;  Hyde  Park, 
340;  street  plan,  94,  107,  108-1 11, 

1 17,  119,  120,  127,  129,  130,  133 
note,  225,  266,  301 ; Trafalgar  Square, 
179,  295 

M 

Mayence,  53 
Minneapolis,  312 
Mobile,  317 
Morris,  William,  36 
Moscow,  98 
Munich,  56 

Municipal  Art  Society,  273;  of  New 
York,  35,  97,  143,  147,  151 

N 

National  Cash  Register  Co.,  253  note 
New  Haven,  360 
New  Orleans,  holidays,  367 
New  York,  40,  128,  131,  133,  147, 
151,  156,  163,  172,  263,  272,  273, 
277;  Brooklyn,  q.  v.'.  City  Hall,  96, 
97;  Dewey  celebration,  359,  370, 
371;  Fifth  Avenue,  200,  218,  220; 
Municipal  Art  Society,  35,  97,  143, 
147,  151;  Riverside  Drive,  179,  181, 
221,  315  note,  316;  squares,  298, 
304,  305 ; stations,  66,  70,  71;  street 
plan,  105,  106,  107,  117,  1 1 8,  133 
note,  200,  263;  water-front,  48,  49 
Nice,  50 

Night  beauty,  39 

O 

Occasional  decoration,  see  Temporary 
and  occasional  decoration 
Olmsted,  F.  L.,  66,  107,  209 
Open  space,  106,  167,  168,  172,  176, 
179,  180,  198,  200,  220,  287-306; 
before  station,  63,  64,  66-75,  101 1 ‘n 
business  quarter,  168,  171,  292,  293; 
in  residential  section,  95,  193-195, 
299-306;  in  tenement  section,  250, 
262-267;  on  water-front,  43,  45,  90, 
101,  330 


Outdoor  art  societies,  273,  325  note 
Oxford,  278-280 

P 

Pageants,  57,  146,  147,  369,  see  also 
Processions,  370 

Paris,  50,  56,  98,  105,  146,  171,  217, 
220,  232?,  272,  362;  art  administra- 
tion, 21,  131,  172,  173;  bridges,  114- 
ii53  177;  Place  de  la  Concorde,  141- 
142,  179,  18 1,  298;  stations,  62,  66, 
71;  street  furnishings,  141-142,  148, 

‘ 5°>  ‘55,  ‘57,  ‘59,  215;  street  plan, 
85,  94,  107,  111,  1 12,  115,  1 16,  1 19, 
155,  200,  208,  225 

Park  commissioners,  219,  233,  328,  334, 
338,  344 

Parking,  219,  241-244,  255-257 
Parks,  310,  319,  325,  350;  boundary  of, 
198,  221,  331-334,  339;  distribution 
of,  324,  326,  327;  entrances,  329- 
341;  function  of,  220,  321,  322,  323, 
342s  344,  35 >,  353,  355,  372;  location 
of,  326,  327-330,  338;  need  of,  323, 
346;  roads  and  paths,  341-343;  sys- 
tem, 73,  309,  327;  the  landscape 
development,  337-354,  351,  352;  and 
see  under  Landscape  gardening 
Parkway,  193,  201,  206,  221,  307-320 
Pavement,  212,  231,  255 
Penn,  William,  105 

Philadelphia,  131,  146;  parkway  project, 
200,  224,  308  note,  311;  stations,  66; 
street  plan,  105,  106,  107 
Picture  of  the  city,  39-42,  43,  46 
Pisa,  50 
Pittsburg,  1 1 7 

Playground,  230,  256,  262,  263,  264, 
285,  304 
Plaza,  see  Square 
Politics,  11,  12,  15,  16 
Port  Sunlight,  253  note 
Posters,  156,  157,  219;  see  also  Adver- 
tisement pillars 
Prague,  53,  56 
Processions,  356,  361,  369 
Projecting  signs,  1 53 
Promenades,  45,  49,  50,  51 
Public  buildings,  architecture  of,  89,  92, 
95-97,  ‘32,  ‘36,  1 7‘,  223,  282,  285; 
general  location  of,  81, 86-98, 175,  191 , 
224;  grouping  of,  82-91,  95-98,  180, 
280;  see  also,  for  particular  buildings, 
New  York,  Paris,  etc. 

Q_ 

Quays,  45,  46,  50,  51,  52 


380 


Unite!, 


R 

Radials,  see  Street  plan 
Railroad,  47,  53,  60,  61,  76-80 
Rapid-transit,  provision  for,  102,  207, 
208-2 1 1 , 3 1 2,  3 1 3,  342 ; value  of,  6-9, 
188,  248,  254,  312,  343 
Renaissance  (Flemish),  11  note,  13,32, 
98,  212,  283 

Renaissance  (Italian),  1 1 , 13,  14,  32,98, 
139,  171,  182,  336 
Restaurants,  out-of-doors,  217 
Riis,  Jacob  A.,  263,  264 
Rome,  366;  ancient,  13,  179,  212,  356, 

3 66;  modern,  40,  56,  105,  107,  1 1 6, 
297 

Rouen,  62  note,  171 
Rowe,  Dr.  L.  S.,  265 
Ruskin,  230 

S 

Saloon,  245,  265 

San  Francisco,  1 1 7,  146,  317,  374; 

Merchants’  Association  of,  1 54,  1 56 
Scenery,  preservation  of  natural,  329,  J 
345 

School  gardens,  285 
Schools,  84,  223,  278,  285 
Sculptor,  36,  1 2 1 , 177 
Sculpture,  175;  architectural  use  of,  95, 
171;  on  bridges,  176,  178;  in  open 
spaces,  69,  167,  293;  in  parks,  347; 
in  street,  169,  170,  176,  225,  226 
Seats,  in  street,  214,  213,  217,  219,  220, 
225,  256;  in  square,  263,  265;  in 
park,  352 

Shrubs,  69,  70,  74,  210,  219,  243 
Sidewalks,  152,  156,  2 12-2 14,  231,  255 
Sienna,  171 

Sign,  158,  159,  161 ; see  also  Advertise- 
ments, Projecting,  Street-name 
Slum  district,  120,  121 
Smith,  Ernest  Gilliat,  1 1 note 
Spain,  217 
Speedway,  318 
Springfield,  Mass.,  98 
Square,  325;  development  of,  67-75, 
142,  167,  170,  1 71,  179,  180,  215; 
functions  of,  67,  71, 321,  341 ; stations, 
67-75;  see  also  Open  space 
St.  Louis,  1 26  note 
St.  Paul,  316 

Station,  47,  61-63,  64-66,  67,  75,  76, 
117;  grounds,  64,  73 
Street  decoration,  357-365;  examples  of, 
358-361,  364-367;  see  also  Tem- 
porary and  occasional  decoration; 
purpose  of,  362,  370 


I Street  name  sign,  148-151 
I Street  plan,  132,  139,  166,  347;  in  busi- 
' ness  district,  101-122;  in  residential 
district,  187-205,  220,  231;  in  tene- 
ment district,  248-251,  255,  266; 
curved  streets,  196-198,  200-202,  232, 
332;  location  of  open  spaces,  106,  1 10, 
114-116,  168,  193-195,  200,  266, 
290-202;  use  of  radials,  107,  1 10-1 12, 
114-116,  118,  133,  189-193,  199, 

249-251 

Sturgis,  Russell,  133  note 
Suburbs,  188,  221,  231-233,  236;  in- 
dustrial, 251-253;  of  Boston,  41,  66, 
74,  201 

Sunset,  influence  of,  229 
Symonds,  John  Addington,  272 

T 

Temporary  and  occasional  decoration, 
conditions  of,  362-367,  368;  con- 
nection with  Civic  art,  355,  372,  373, 
375;  origin  of,  355,  357,  362;  pur- 
pose of,  357,  362,  372,  373;  value 

of,  373-374,  375 
Tenement  district,  52,  245-268 
Terraces,  76,  92,  179 
Tiffany,  Louis  C.,  360  note 
Toronto,  1 1 7 

Trees,  in  open  spaces,  71,  171,  263,  264, 
299,  304;  in  streets,  196,  217,  218, 
231-234,  242,  256,  374;  value  of,  71, 
95,  160,  230,  234,  334 
Trolley,  209,  210,  342;  poles,  161,  210 
Turf,  209,  215,  217,  219,  242,  256,  263, 
299 

U 

Universities,  274-280 
University  of  California,  275,  276 

V 

Vacant  lots,  161,  221,  222 

Venice,  40,  98,  171,  266,  296,  365,  368 

Viaduct,  176,  315 

Vienna,  86,  88,  103-105,  in,  120,  199, 
200 

Vines,  210,  235,  239 
W 

Walls,  city,  9,  59,  188,  335 
Waring,  Col.,  190 

Washington,  364;  bridges,  177;  Capitol, 
91;  improvement  of,  72,  73,  92,  116, 
118,  181,  280;  public  buildings,  91, 


Ilnfcey, 


Washington — Continued. 

129,  273,  282,  371;  street  plan,  85, 
94,  111,  1 12,  200,  302 
Waste  receptacles,  161,  163,  219,  352 
Water,  43,  169,  170 
Water-front,  95;  development  of,  43- 
46,  48-52,  88-90,  98;  reserved  for 
parks,  43,  44,  56,  90,  329,  330;  site 
for  pageants,  57,  368,  369;  view 
from,  42,  46,  47,  55,  57,  89 
Wealth,  influence  of,  10,  n,  134-136 
Weber,  Adna  Ferrin,  253  note 
Westinghouse  community,  253  note 
Width  of  streets,  113,  117,  126,  198, 
266;  appropriate  widths,  202,  208, 
313  note;  injury  of  narrow  streets,  86, 


87,  88,  102,  203;  value  of  wid< 
1 18-120,  125,  200,  248 
Window  boxes,  235,  265 
Wordsworth,  341,  342 
Wren,  Christopher,  108,  no,  1 
H5 


Y 

Yale  University,  277,  360 
Z 

Zeublin,  Charles,  324  note 
Zoological  gardens,  348 


381 

; streets, 

11,  112, 


The  Improvement  of 
Towns  and  Cities:  or ; 
The  Practical  Basis  of 
Civic  ^Esthetics  : : : : : 

By  Charles  Mulford  Robinson 

Member  of  the  Architectural  League  of  America’s  Com- 
mittee on  Municipal  Improvements. 

12°.  (By  mail , $1.35.)  Net , $1.25. 


cc  A ^ extraordinarily  good  book.  The  breadth  of  the  author’s 
observations  is  even  more  remarkable  than  the  breadth  of 
his  reading,  and  the  strength  of  his  common  sense  quite  as 
remarkable  as  the  strength  of  his  artistic  sense.” — The  Outlook. 

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commend  it,  would  be  welcome.  But  it  has  more  than  mere  timeli- 
ness. It  shows  great  care  in  preparation,  and  gives  the  best  general 
statement  of  civic  aesthetics’  many  problems,  and  of  the  known  ways 
of  solving  them.” — The  Nation. 

“ It  is  a book  which  may  be  used  by  practical  workers  or  by  anyone 
interested  in  municipal  improvement.  The  style  of  the  writer  is 
pleasing,  and  his  frequent  reference  to  cities  abroad  shows  wide 
knowledge.” — The  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

“ The  book  will  be  found  more  interesting  than  any  romance  to  a 
great  many  readers.  It  should  become  a volume  indispensable  to 
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home  and  abroad.  . . . The  more  one  reads  the  more  is  one 

surprised  that  so  small  a book  can  carry  so  much.” — The  World. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM’S  SONS 


New  York 


London 


By  Catharine  M.  Jtbbott 


Old  Paths  and  Legends  of 
New  England 

Saunterings  over  Historic  Roads  with  Glimpses  of 
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G.  P.  Putnam’s  Sons 

New  York  London 


By  Elise  W.  Rose  and  Vida  Hunt  Francis 


Cathedrals  and  Cloisters 
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In  Two  Volumes 


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With  pen  and  camera  the  authors  picture  the  Cathedrals  of 
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G.  P.  Putnam’s  Sons 

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1 


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Romance  of  the  Feudal  Chateaux 

With  40  photogravure  and  other  illustrations 

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the  Renaissance  Chateaux 

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(NORTHERN  ITALY) 

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(THE  RENAISSANCE) 

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“A  delightful  blending  of  history,  art,  and  romance.  Many  of  the  stories 
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